


Nampara Garage

by mmmuse



Category: Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Derogatory Language, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2018-09-24 12:23:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 116,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9726779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.A Modern Romelza AU.





	1. Roundabout

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, it's all rainpuddle13's fault. :-)

“Dammit. Not today.” Demelza Carne paused before turning the key in the ignition again. Nothing. Not even the dissipated wheeze of an engine attempting to come back to life. She blew out a sigh and opened the door of the pickup, her boots crunching on the gravel roadway near the mine office.

She’d agreed to come out to the site to speak with Henshawe, their foreman, at her brother Sam’s request. “He’ll give you more information than me, especially if you dazzle him with that smile,” he'd joked. She’d given him a swift kick in the shin for that, the sexist arse. However, it was part of her responsibility as heir to the Carnemore Minerals Corporation. What annoyed her the most was having to scrabble about for something to wear. They’d had the quarterly company board meeting earlier in the day and the sleek Zac Posen suit and Louboutin pumps were not the types of things one would choose to wear to a mine office. So she’d borrowed a company polo shirt and a pair of jeans she’d found stuffed in her gym bag and jumped into one of the company pickups.

The meeting she’d had with Henshawe had gone better than expected. It had been a while since she’d been to the Leisure/Grace compound and was happy to see the progress they’d made with the copper and tin extraction. When the whistle sounded the end of the day she’d decided to stay to make a few calls before heading back into town. By the time she’d looked up from her laptop she realized she was the last one there.

Stranded and with half an hour left to get home and changed for her brother Drake’s graduation party, ran back to the office, flipped through the old fashioned Rolodex Henshawe insisted he keep until she found the card for their lorry maintenance contractor. As she waited for someone to answer, she had a brief image of the company’s sign flash in her mind: Nampara Garage, just over the hill on the road back to Sawle. She’d passed it a few times since her return from their platinum mining venture in South Africa six months ago. It stood next to a long, curving drive that kept one from seeing the building, but the sign was hand-painted, quite expertly, instead of one of those flashy, over-designed signages so popular with big, nation-wide chain operations. It was homey and, in a way, inviting.

A cheerful young woman answered. “Yes…hello…I am in desperate need of a tow or a jump or whatever I need to get this thrice-damned pickup moving…I’m at Leisure mine, how soon can you get here?…Thirty minutes?…Could it be any sooner?….Oh, oh alright, fine. Thirty minutes. It’s a black Toyota right near the mine office….thank you…I’ll see you then.” She hung up and frowned. “Bollocks.” She dialed her brother next. “Drake…hello, love… yes, I’m calling about that… I’ve had a spot of car trouble so I will be late…of course I’ll be there as soon as I can. We all must celebrate with you tonight…Don’t worry, I’ve a tow on its way…see you soon. Bye!”

She was unaccountably sad by the time she hung up the phone. It wasn’t as if this was the end of the world. She’d be a tad late, and – in the end – would have a tale to tell over Mrs Gimlett’s delicious dinner.

She was mentally going through her wardrobe choices for the evening’s affair when she heard the sound of a heavy lorry engine approaching from the east. She glanced up to see a massive, faded blue breakdown recovery vehicle lumbering down the drive. She’d been expecting what one usually thought of when one thought of a tow lorry, not this enormous vehicle with a flatbed. The driver expertly swung the big rig around, the beeping of the backing alarm now discordant with the strains of the Beatles “Helter Skelter” streaming from the open windows at ear-shattering decibels.

She released a breath she hadn’t known she was holding when he turned off the ignition and silence fell over the site. “You’ll be deaf in a week if you continue like tha—” The rest of the words turned to dust in her mouth as the owner of the breakdown truck jumped down from his seat.

Tall, dark and handsome was one way to think of him, but that tired expression merely scratched the surface of the man striding towards her. Demelza shut her mouth with a snap before anyone could accuse her of looking like a landed trout. She’d never found the ubiquitous manbun attractive until now. He had a mass of black curling hair carelessly captured in one of the things, tendrils slipping loose along the strong column of his neck. He wore a thick, well-groomed beard that drew her eyes to his full lips, beautifully sculpted cheekbones and eyes of a color she’d never seen before: greens and golds and grays all warring for attention. Muscular, graceful in his simple t-shirt, a bit grimy but expected for a mechanic, blue jeans and boots, the corner of his mouth hitched up into a half-smile as he came to a halt before her.

“You call for a tow, miss?” he asked, pulling a bandanna from his pocket and wiping his hands. 

She nodded dumbly.  _Oh, what a voice_ , Demelza thought to herself. “Y-yes,” she stammered. His eyes reminded her of a big cat, the way he appraised her at that moment. Demelza had a healthy enough self-esteem to know she was pretty, and had been on the receiving end of an appreciative male glance a time or two. Fair enough, for she was certain her less-than-surreptitious perusal of her rescuer had not gone unnoticed.

He smiled then, a pleasant shock of white teeth against the full black beard. He nodded towards the driver’s seat and she all but jumped out of his way. “What happens when you turn the ignition?”

“Nothing. Just a click.” He stuffed the bandanna back into his pocket and leaned over to turn the key. The t-shirt shifted over well-defined back muscles that made her wish to trace them with her fingertips when he moved. She swallowed. _Get it together, Carne._ “I’m not sure what’s wrong with it. It ran fine on the way here.” He nodded, cocking his head to listen.

He leaned back and shut the door. “I’m pretty sure it’s the alternator, but I won’t know for certain until I get it back to my garage.” He looked around the site and frowned. “Are you all alone up here? I always found this place to be a bit creepy when everything goes all silent at night.”

She smiled: she’d often held the same impression. “True enough, but you can hardly find a better place for a beautiful sunset.” She nodded her head towards the cliffs where the sun made its way down into the horizon.

“Agreed,” he said with another heart-stopping grin. “My shop is about five miles from here. Nampara Garage?” If she’d been curious about the little sign by the road before, now knowing what delights lay hidden away beyond that curving drive made her even more intrigued. He rubbed his chin, and her toes curled at the crisp, sandpapery sound of his whiskers. “You can ride with me up to the garage, and then I could give you a lift ho–”

“–No.”

He blinked and took a step back, his disappointment clear in his entire demeanor. “I’m sorry, I didn–”

“–No, I mean, yes…sorry…I’d appreciate a lift,” she corrected. “Back to the office in Truro, if you don’t mind?”

"Not at all," he said with a grin and offered her his hand. "Ross Poldark, at your service. It's nice to meet you, Jinny..."

He trailed off as if waiting for her to finish the sentence. Demelza experienced a split second of utter bafflement before her eyes flicked down to her borrowed polo shirt. There, embroidered in crisp, white letters above her left breast, sat the word “Jinny”.

Bloody effing hell.

“Carter,” she blurted, shaking the proffered hand, her heart thumping in her throat. “Jinny Carter.”

~*~*~*~*~

Ross snuck another covert look at Jinny Carter as he hauled the cables down to attach to the frame of her rig. He’d nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw her standing by the black Toyota Hilux with the Carnemore logo on the side. He’d won the bid to maintain the vehicles for the Leisure/Grace site six months ago and had been coming here once a week ever since. He’d never seen hide nor hare of her before, and he was dead certain he would have remembered if he had. Willowy and graceful, with long, fiery red hair she’d worn in a neat tail that swung back and forth when she’d walked back to the office for some papers she’d forgotten. He offered up another prayer of thanksgiving to the person who had deemed skinny jeans to be all the rage. He’d always had a penchant for tall, leggy women, and Miss – please God, let it be Miss – Carter fit the bill. He forced himself not to continue his appreciation of her figure, at least not for now, since operating the heavy hydraulic equipment on this particular flatbed required all of his attention. Unless he wanted to lose a finger. Blood, gore and severed limbs were bound to be a buzzkill at this stage of the game.

It had been a while since he’d felt the kind of immediate attraction he’d had with Jinny and was surprised to realize how much he’d missed it. He would keep that tidbit of information from his cousin Verity, after all she’d been doing her best to set him up with every one of her single girlfriends since he’d broken things off with Elizabeth over a year ago. He figured he was ready for it now because it had taken him months to come to terms with the fact that he was not the type of guy a rich society girl like Elizabeth would ever want to settle down with.

Of course, the nice thing to do would have been to tell him so rather than letting him catch her In flagrante delicto with his cousin Francis just before their engagement party.

God, that whole scene had been a clusterfuck, no other words for it. Ross had been unable to work for a week after the brawl that had left him with a few broken ribs, a sprained wrist and a spectacular black eye. He’d had the satisfaction of sending Francis to the A&E with a broken jaw, nose, ribs and a ruptured spleen. Given the potential for scandal, Ross’s uncle Charles convinced Francis not to press charges.

Since that dark day last May, Ross had had nothing to do with Francis who, as son of the eldest of the Poldark patriarchs, ran Poldark Motors, the family’s multimillion dollar luxury car dealership, with franchises all across the West Country. Before that night, Ross had been chief of their maintenance division, in charge of training all of the Poldark Motors maintenance teams. He'd held that position for nearly ten years and had enjoyed the work immensely. After the debacle, he'd told the other side of the family precisely where to shove their apologies, blown his not-unsubstantial savings and built his own specialty garage on several acres of old farmland near the two-story, granite stone cottage that his great-great-grandfather had built over one hundred fifty years before. Drafty and in need of rehabilitation, Nampara held his heart, and he loved every stone of the place.

Now that he was about to invite Jinny up to the property he hoped he’d made an effort to tidy up the yard. He finished tightening the straps securing her pickup's tyres to the flatbed, walked around to complete the procedure to load the vehicle and slipped his phone from his pocket.

“Nampara Garage, Verity speaking.”

“Verity, it’s me,” Ross whispered.

“I’m sorry? You’ll have to speak up!”

Ross looked quizzically at the phone before realizing the problem: he was standing next to the hydraulics. He shifted over several feet, being careful to keep his back towards Jinny. “Verity, it’s me, Ross.”

“Hello, cousin dear,” she chirped into the phone. “Are you almost finished? I’ve a lovely shepherd’s pie in the oven for supper and Jud just tapped the new keg of be—”

“—Never mind that,” Ross interrupted. “Can you go out and make sure the yard isn’t a disaster from the chickens and the dog? I’ve got to give the customer I’m with a lift home after I bring her rig up to the shop.” He paused. “God, if Garrick has got into the chicken coop, I swear the beast is going to the shelter.”

Verity laughed. “Oh, Ross, you know you would never do such a thing,” Verity said before stopping. “'Her'? Your client at the mine is a woman?”

Ross rolled his eyes. “Yes, and I—”

“—Of course! She had such a lovely voice when she called earlier. Why don’t you invite her to stay for supper?” Verity urged. “There’s plenty, you know!”

“Verity, I’ve no time to go into details. Just…tidy, quickly," he muttered through gritted teeth. “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Is anything the matter?” Ross hung up the phone, turning to find Jinny standing behind him. “I saw you on the phone.”

“N-No, nothing,” he stammered. The bed slowly edged its way along the track until it was secured in place. When she smiled, her eyes sparkled in the light of the setting sun, making him forget to turn the key to the drive off. “Bollocks,” he muttered as the gears whined in protest, feeling hot colour flood his cheeks. He shut down the engine and, having seen her discretely shift her gaze to a far point near the mine stacks, cleared his throat. “All set, Jinny,” he grinned, removing his bandanna to clean his hands, more from nervous habit than actual need. “I only need to do a final check of the straps before we’ll be ready to go. Do you have all your things?”

“Yes, I do, and -- in truth -- I am in a bit of a hurry,” she admitted. “A family obligation in town.”

“Of course, I’m sorry I should have asked,” Ross said, motioning her towards the passenger side of the lorry. “I’ll leave your vehicle on my rig before taking you into town. That will save us some time.” He opened the door, nodding at the almost four foot climb up to the seat and grinned. “Need a boost?” She laughed and, arching a brow, slung her bag over her shoulder and gracefully pulled herself up into the cab. The muscles of her long legs flexed as she climbed, and he covered the groan with what he hoped was a hearty laugh before making sure she was belted in before closing the door. He swore under his breath, castigating himself as he made one more circuit around the lorry before hauling himself up into the driver’s seat. The music came blaring out of the speakers the instant he fired the ignition and she clapped her hands over her ears. “Jesus!” He fumbled for the volume control, slapping it off. “I’m so sorry about that!”

“I wasn’t kidding before, you know, when I said that earlier, but I’m certain you didn’t hear me.” she grumbled, eyeing him through her lashes. Long, long lashes. “You will be deaf in a week if you keep that up!”

“I know,” he chuckled, embarrassed. “The engine is quite loud, especially once we start moving, so I find I overcompensate for it.” He turned the volume down and, thinking for a moment, selected another playlist from his battered, old iPod. Soon, the softer sounds of Sting came through the speakers. “Better?”

She nodded. “Yes, thanks. Not that I don’t like the Beatles, of course.” He glanced at her as he put the lorry in gear and they began their way up the drive to the main road. “I dare say there must be a law somewhere that we need to love the Beatles.” He barked with laughter. “But I do love Sting, especially the jazz work he’s done after his work with The Police.”

They chatted about favorite artists and genres, and he discovered she was a bit of a jazz wonk. “You know, I like _some_ of it,” he mused, “but there’s others that just sound like a bunch of random notes all thrown up into the air.”

“There’s a good deal of music theory that goes into jazz,” she said, swiveling and tucking one of her legs under her. Her face was animated and excited and he sat back, enjoying the drive as he listened to her explain how a jazz arrangement was much like a sandwich, with the slices of bread representing the choruses and the filling in the middle being up to the musicians to create. "The results can be delicious."

He arched his brow. “I’ll take your word for it,“ he said, somewhat dubious. “For now.” Her teasing giggle was enough to make himself swear to download some Miles Davis as soon as he got home.

They fell into a companionable silence and were halfway on their journey when she cleared her throat and pointed at the sticker of a silhouetted 1967 Pontiac GTO with the company details on it he had on the dashboard. It was the logo he and Verity had been toying around with. “Poldark, you said?” He nodded. “Are you related to the Poldarks of Poldark Motors?”

He forced himself not to freeze. “Yes, a cousin of mine.” His tone was sharper than he’d intended, and he noticed the smile teasing the corners of her mouth had fade. “Sorry. We had a bit of a falling out a while ago and tensions are still...well...tense.”

“Forgive me,” Jinny murmured, glancing shyly up at him. “I didn’t mean to bring up anything bad.”

“No worries,” he acknowledged. “I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you new to the area?” _Because I sure as hell would have noticed you before now, disastrous break up or no._

“No, I-I’ve only just returned to the area after being away for several months.”

“Were you off at uni?” he asked. “Or on a jet-set honeymoon with someone terribly dashing?” _So effing smooth, Poldark,_ he thought to himself with a grimace. Thankfully she laughed, a deep, throaty sound that made him join her.

“No to the latter, but yes on the former,” she said. “A field study in South Africa.” His eyes widened at this and they found themselves talking about her experience there.  Ross had always wanted to see the world, but there was never any money to spare to do such kinds of things, especially now. He’d only ever been to the States for specialized training courses from Toyota for drivetrain/transmission assembly and repairs in Pennsylvania when he’d been with the company. She said she was a project manager with Carnemore and was starting an assignment at Leisure/Grace as they pursued another vein of copper on the old Tresillic workings. He found her to be very smart, full of life and, better yet, laughed at his sorry jokes. All too soon, they were turning onto the drive towards the shop. “I’ve always been curious about what lay beyond the curve of this drive, Ross.”

“My pleasure to show you, Jinny.” He smiled, his chest swelling with pride.”Welcome to Nampara.”

 

 


	2. Bulkhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> A Modern Romelza AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made a couple of Brit-pick changes in chapter one. The main one was the make and model of her pickup: it's now a Toyota Hilux. Many thanks to xxsparksxx for the Brit-picking and rainpuddle13 for the beta.

Demelza unclasped her seat belt and looked at the beautiful sight before her. A lovely stone cottage sat to the west side of the property. Ivy and wisteria covered much of the granite, the old slate shingles and low, craggy rock wall adding to the home’s charm and sense of permanence. She had to believe the view from the front of the house would have been spectacular, situated atop a rise above the cliffs. To the east, an old farm building and stable – not nearly as old as the house but near to it – nestled into the landscape. As Ross opened her door, the sound of a horse’s whinny bugled from inside and she clapped her hands like a schoolgirl.

She blinked down at him, blushing at the enjoyment he’d clearly experienced by her childish display and covered her cheeks. “Oh, please don’t,” he implored. “It was delightful, Jinny. May I?” He held his hands up to assist her from the cab. She placed her palms against his shoulders and willed herself not to squeal as he plucked her from her seat as if were as light as a feather.

Her blush returned as her feet touched the earth. “T-Thank you, Ross,” she stammered, her palms tingling from the brief contact she’d had with him.

He held her a second longer than necessary, releasing her waist and stepping back, dark colour staining his broad cheekbones. “You’re welcome, Jinny.” He glanced up at the seat and stepped onto the running board, reaching in to grab her laptop bag. “Don’t forget this.”

She rolled her eyes and slipped the strap over her shoulder. “Cheers.” She turned and glanced over towards the sprawling modern building to the south of the yard. “Wow.”

He laughed, a booming, unreserved laugh of absolute pleasure and Demelza felt inordinately happy to have been the cause of it. “Thanks, Jinny. It is my pride and jo—” They were interrupted by the crazed barking of what she assumed must have been one of the Hounds of the Baskervilles. “God dammit,” he muttered, taking off at a gallop towards what looked like a chicken coop. Not about to miss out on the fun, she ran after him, laptop bag thumping against her hip, came to a skidding halt and burst out laughing. Ross had been toppled by a scruffy-haired dog with massive paws that shot out past her in rapid pursuit of a black and white rooster. The rooster, whom she assumed was named Rufus -- based on the curses spewing from Ross’s mouth -- made tracks across the yard and, with a grace Demelza had thought impossible for chickens, flapped his way up into the cab of the recovery vehicle.

She was mopping tears of mirth from her face when a woman’s yell made her jump. “Garrick! You stupid creature, you leave that rooster alone before he pecks out your eyes!” Demelza whirled to find herself looking into one of the sweetest faces she’d ever seen. Chocolate brown eyes snapped with a mixture of humor, speculation and annoyance above round cheeks, and brilliant smile. “Verity Poldark, Ross’s cousin,” she said, shaking Demelza’s hand with vigor. “So lovely to meet you, Miss…”

“Carter,” Ross grumped, slapping his spectacular thighs and arse free of dust with his broad hands. _Judas_ , Demelza thought to herself, biting the inside of her cheek. “Jinny Carter, my last client. This would be Verity.”

“Very pleased to meet you, Verity,” Demelza said, heroically tearing her eyes away from Ross as he re-tucked his t-shirt into his jeans. “It was you I spoke to when I called, right?”

Verity nodded, trilling another laugh. “I am dispatcher and chief bookkeeper for Nampara Garage.”

“As well as doing a tidy business in fresh eggs, cheese, vegetables, and the best cider in the county,” Ross murmured, giving his cousin a squeeze. She was as petite as he was tall, with brown-black hair styled in a cute bob that curved along her jaw. “She’s my best friend and I wouldn’t know what to do without her.” Demelza was touched by the affection the two clearly had for one another. “Although I’d hoped you would have locked that infernal canine in the barn, given what he attempts to do to your precious chooks.”

“He’s not a dog, he’s a dervish!” Verity snorted. “Rufus gives as good as he gets, so I’ve yet found reason to murder Garrick.” She glowered in the direction the dog had run, widening a split second later with panic. “Ross, do something!”

Demelza turned to see Garrick charging straight in her direction. She closed her eyes, awaiting the collision when two things happened. First, Ross stepped directly behind her, hands clasping her upper arms, and used his body to brace her. She barely had time to savour the warmth and strength of him before the dog came to a scrabbling halt at her feet. She opened one eye to find herself wedged between Garrick and his master, the dog plopped down on his haunches and attempting to slurp the skin from her hand. Ross looked down at her and immediately released her arms. “Sorry about that.”

Cheeks flaming, Demelza dropped to her knees and gathered Garrick in her arms. “What a marvelous beast you are, boy!” The dog yapped, giving her cheeks quick swipes with his tongue, making her giggle with happiness.

“Will you look at that, cousin?” Ross said above her head. She glanced up to see him standing with hands on hips, a sardonic smile on his face. “We feed and house the beast for almost a year, and he does his damndest to destroy the place. She’s here two minutes and he’s her slave.” He cast a baleful glance at the dog. “Have some pride, man.”

“Don’t listen to him, Jinny,” Verity said, flapping her hand against his arm. “I think he’s jealous.” Demelza snuck a peek at Ross, who was busying himself with his bandanna again. “And I’m envious! Anytime I try to put the dog on his lead he gallops me around the yard faster than old Seamus.”

“So that was a horse I heard when we arrived!” Demelza squeaked, standing and bouncing on her toes. Garrick danced alongside her.

Verity nodded. “That’s my Seamus,” she said fondly. “I brought him from home when I moved up here with Ross a year ago.” A momentary shadow dimmed her features before she blinked them away. “He’s much happier up here. I’d love to introduce you. Perhaps you’ll change your mind about supper? Ross said you had som--”

“-- Oh God!” Demelza interrupted, checking her watch. “I’m so sorry, no, I have a family event I must attend and I’m already horribly late. May I have a rain check?”

It was offered to both, but Verity was first to clasp her hand and smile. “You are welcome anytime, my dear,” Verity said. “Any friend of Ross’s is a friend of mine.” She gave her cousin a wide-eyed glance that Demelza couldn’t help but notice. “Take my car, Ross. I had Mark Daniel detail it when he came by to do Mr Treneglos’s estate car.” She dug in her pocket and tossed the keys. He grabbed them out of the air like Harry Potter did a snitch. “Hope you get to your event safe, Jinny. He likes to drive that thing fast!”

She waved Verity good bye as Ross escorted her towards the red Land Rover Evoque parked near the house, smiled when he gallantly opened the door and walked around to the driver’s side. “I promise to behave myself,” he murmured as he hit the push button start and the car came to life.

He’d been the perfect gentleman during their entire encounter. Just this once, Demelza mused, she really wished he wouldn’t.

 

An hour later, Demelza zipped up her pale-blue Sandro Peaches lace dress, strapped into her favorite Jimmy Choo wedges, pulled her ponytail into a knot secured with a pair of jeweled hairsticks and raced out of her flat to the lift. Her friend Caroline always scoffed whenever Demelza referred to her home as a flat. Sitting atop the company’s shiny new office tower, the penthouse had been featured in the most recent issue of _Dezeen Magazine_. The party was being held in the conference center on the second floor, which, while convenient, did nothing to bolster her excuse for being nearly two hours late.

She fumbled in her pocket to pull out her lipstick and came across the business card she’d accepted from Ross when he dropped her off. The silhouette of the Pontiac, black against crisp white, the name of the garage in bold font across it. She’d had as equally enjoyable time on the drive from Nampara down into Truro, falling into easy conversation with this man she’d known for little more than an hour. Before she knew it he was pulling in front of the office. He told her he’d start work on the pickup first thing in the morning and asked if there was a number where he could reach her. He punched in her number on his phone before handing her the card. “My number’s on the other side,” he said, the corner of his mouth teasing up into a grin. “I’ll ring you, first thing.” It was a good thing someone had tapped on their horn, because she’d been very sorely tempted to kiss that mouth, if only to know what his whiskers felt like against her lips.

But if she had, he’d be kissing a fallacy. For the purposes of a one night stand -- which she was proud to say she’d never had -- it would have been just the thing. But the attraction she’d had for Ross wasn’t something she wished to take in one, big bite. It was something she wanted to savour. How could she do that if she wasn’t even being herself?

The lift slowed to a stop, drawing Demelza back to reality. She freshened her lipstick and was bombarded with the second blast of overly loud music -- Drake’s favourite band Green Day -- and sincerely hoped she would be able to sneak into the festivities unnoticed. Those hopes were dashed within seconds. She squinted through the gloom in search of the one person she wished to see, only to be ambushed and pulled into a massive hug. “Caroline!” she squealed, returning the embrace with joy  before easing back to look at her friend. Caroline Penvenen was one of the more stunningly beautiful creatures to ever walk the planet, to Demelza’s estimation. Effortlessly model-thin -- the cow -- with a perfect heart-shaped face and golden blonde hair, Demelza almost felt dowdy next to her. Until her friend had taught her the finer points of designer clothes, the right hair stylist and simple makeup techniques that enhanced her lovely features rather than covering them. Together, they slayed. “How was Paris?”

“Fantastic, sweetie,” Caroline said, giving Demelza’s hand a squeeze. “Almost as wonderful as Jean-Pierre.”

Demelza rolled her eyes and snared a glass of white wine from a passing waiter. “You’ll have to tell me all about it, but first I have _got_ to talk to you.”

“Shall we go to my office?” Caroline said. Demelza nodded and the two women made their escape to the ladies lounge. They sat down on the comfortable couch outside the washroom. Caroline kicked off her stilettos and wiggled her toes. “The price we pay, Dee. So,” she said, pausing to tuck her legs under her, “what has you all hot and bothered?” Demelza launched into her tale, thoughts pouring out like rain. Her friend listened intently, offering commiseration when she needed it, giggled when Demelza reached the part with the dog, and went out to the party to snare two more glasses of wine, for fortification purposes. In the end, Caroline leaned back and arched a saucy look at Demelza. “Let me make sure I have this straight. You met a gorgeous man, who helped you with your car, and the two of you really clicked. He took you home to meet his sister--”

“--Caroline!”

She laughed. “It’s true! He took you home, where you met his sister before he drove _you_ home, gave you his number and promised to call? Sounds like a delicious way to get back into the swing of things, darling! So what’s the problem?”

Demelza bit her lip. “He doesn’t...exactly know who I am.”

“I’m sorry?” The teasing glint faded in her friend’s eyes. “He doesn’t exactly know who you are? What on earth does that mean?”

“He called me Jinny,” Demelza hedged.

“I still don’t understand.” Caroline said, all humour gone, a frown marring her pretty brow. “Out with it. Fast, like taking off a plaster. Quick.”

“I-was-wearing-Jinny-Carter’s-polo-shirt-because-I-didn’t-have-any-casual-clothes-with-me-and-he-saw-it-and-assumed-my-name-was-Jinny--”

“--and you didn’t immediately correct his assumption?” Caroline gaped. Demelza hid her face in her hands and nodded. “Have you gone mad?”

“Apparently so,” she mumbled, her voice muffled.

“You _do_ realize your family is one of the wealthiest in this region, hell, in the country!” Caroline pulled Demelza’s hands from her face, capturing them with her own. “Why on earth did you think you could pull this off?”

The absurdity of the entire situation, now spoken aloud to another human being, made Demelza’s head spin. “Caroline, it was so lovely not b-being me at that m-moment,” she stammered. “Whenever I meet someone I might grow to fancy, I always wonder if they are interested in me, a girl name Demelza, or if they are interested in me, Demelza Carne, heiress to the Carnemore Mineral Corporation.”

Caroline sighed. “This all has to do with George, doesn’t it?”

Demelza nodded. She’d met George Warleggan her second year at uni. Handsome, urbane and in his final year at school, she’d been flattered by his attention and affections. They’d gone out for a year and she’d fancied herself in love with him. He’d assured her his feelings for her were the same. When she’d at last introduced him to her family, she’d been elated by how well he’d got on with her brothers and her father. Until he came to her after he’d been out fishing with them, and told her that her father told George he wasn’t interested in shifting his investments from Pasco Investments to Knox Stanley, the investment firm George started with after leaving school. When she suggested that it might just require more time for her family to get to know and trust him, George had flown into a temper. “Why do you suppose I wasted the last year on you? Today’s outing was completely appropriate: I was fishing, alright, but not for anything in the sea. The Carne portfolio is a big fish, and I intended to land it. The best way to do that was a little bait.” He chucked her under her chin. “I have to say it was a tasty bit of chum.”

She choked back a sob. “Ever since that day I’ve always held myself back, never thought of a second date with anyone,” she croaked, blowing her nose with a tissue. “I haven’t trusted anyone enough to risk myself again.”

The final admission she’d refused to acknowledge, the one at the nucleus of the the entire debacle, was simply a bridge too far to take. The tears began to fall, and simply would not stop. She wept for what felt like weeks. Caroline cradled her in her arms, petting her hair and crooning in her ear. “So when the mix-up with the name happened--”

“--I just went with it.” She felt so tired, defeated. “And it was the first time in such a long time that I’d let my guard down enough to see what I was missing.” Soon, all of the tears had been shed. Demelza sat up, her head filled with cotton and pain. She clasped Caroline’s hand. “I know it can’t go on forever.”

“It shouldn’t go on for another day, sweetie,” Caroline murmured. “It’s a good thing you were late tonight. This place was crawling with paps not thirty minutes before you arrived.”

Demelza’s stomach rolled. “Oh God.”

“Yes, ‘Oh God’.” Caroline faced Demelza. “You would have been slashed all over tomorrow’s pages! What if Mr GTO reads the local gossip rag, or someone he knows reads it?”

Demelza swallowed her wine in two gulps. “What do I do?”

“You tell him, sweetheart. Before it goes any farther.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

From: Ross Poldark  
To: Jinny Carter  
17/05/2016 06:09

Free to a good home: dog of indeterminate breeding. Appreciator of pretty, red-haired customers, antagonistic towards one chicken named Rufus and currently asleep in the bed of a black Toyota Hilux. Direct inquiries to R. Poldark

From: Jinny Carter  
To: Ross Poldark  
17/05/2016  06:11

Hello there -- you’re bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning. Or is that the aforementioned dog?

From: Ross Poldark  
To: Jinny Carter  
17/05/2016 06:13

That aforementioned dog was back in the chickens at 0400

From: Jinny Carter  
To: Ross Poldark  
17/05/2016  06:15

And now he’s napping and you aren’t? Well played, Garrick!

From: Ross Poldark  
To: Jinny Carter  
17/05/2016 06:16

I see the way the wind blows. That mutt’s already stolen your heart without giving anyone else a chance at it, has he?

From: Ross Poldark  
To: Jinny Carter  
17/05/2016 06:21

Got awfully quiet over there, Jinny.

From: Jinny Carter  
To: Ross Poldark  
17/05/2016  06:22

I was trying to come up with something pithy to say.

I’ve yet to have my first cup of coffee, sir. But suffice it to say I believe the field remains open.

From: Jinny Carter  
To: Ross Poldark  
17/05/2016  06:27

Who’s the quiet one now?

From: Ross Poldark  
To: Jinny Carter  
17/05/2016 06:32

My turn to come up with something pithy.

I should have your rig finished by early this afternoon. I can bring it to town but would need a lift back up here. How’s that for role reversal?

From: Jinny Carter  
To: Ross Poldark  
17/05/2016  06:33

LOL! :-)

From: Ross Poldark  
To: Jinny Carter  
17/05/2016 06:34

And if you don’t have plans, we could negotiate the details of Garrick’s transfer of ownership over a pint at the local near the garage. Thoughts?

From: Jinny Carter  
To: Ross Poldark  
17/05/2016  06:38

Well, alright. If for no other reason than to save that sweet beast from your evil clutches. ;-)

From: Ross Poldark  
To: Jinny Carter  
17/05/2016 06:41

Excellent! Since it’s a fleet vehicle I’ll need to submit the estimate to your maintenance division’s office, so I’ll do that as soon as Zacky gets in at nine. Should have a better idea of when I’ll be finished so I’ll text you to confirm. OK?

From: Jinny Carter  
To: Ross Poldark  
17/05/2016  06:48

Sounds good, Ross - TTYL :-)

 

Ross sang at the top of his lungs along with the late, great Layne Staley as he loosened the serpentine belt free from Jinny’s alternator. _“Into the flood again….Same old trip it was baaaaaack then….So I made a big mistake….Try to see it once my waaaaay...”_ Alice in Chains was a favourite of his whenever he did electrical work for his customers. He’d repaired and replaced more alternators than he cared to count, and could perform the task blindfolded. Despite this, he was meticulous in his work, ever alert for unforeseen complications. These usually happened with late model cars, where nuts and gears had been replaced by circuit boards and wires, and this pickup was no exception.

There were many mechanics who’d waved their hands at the changing trends in auto maintenance. He’d been one of a handful of gearheads in the West Country who’d jumped onto the innovation bandwagon, learned the new technologies ahead of the rest of the them and were able to corner the market with their expertise. Poldark Motors would have been one of those dealerships left in the dust if Ross’s uncle Charles had had his way about it. No one was willing to admit it, but Ross’s foresight had saved the company and made the Trenwith Poldarks rich.

Not that he was bitter or anything about it.

 _“Am I wrong? Have I run too far to get home? Have I gone? And left you here alone?_ A moment later he extracted the alternator from the engine and set it onto the sheet of butcher paper he’d placed on the bench and wiped his hands on his bandanna. “ _If I would, could you?”_

“ROSS!”

Verity’s voice bellowed through the momentary silence between tracks. He swore, scrabbling for the remote for his iMac, turned off the music and reached for the intercom button. “Sorry! What is it?”

“You asked me to call you at nine o’clock, remember?”

He looked at the large Mobile Gas wall clock he’d bought from a collector on eBay. Sure enough, nine o’clock on the nose. Verity was nothing if not punctual. “Thanks, cousin. I need to call Zacky with this estimate for Jinny’s rig.”

“Before you do that, can you come up to the house? I have some invoices I need to go over with you.”

He pursed his lips and gave the intercom speaker a sideways glance. She really _was_ transparent. There were no invoices, he was willing to bet Rufus’s jittery arse on it. But she would have some of his favourite scones, a pot of tea and a whole lot of questions about Jinny.

Might as well and get it over with. He shrugged out of the top of his coveralls, tied the sleeves around his waist and trudged towards the house.

After he’d dropped Jinny Carter off at her office, he’d taken a drive out to the cliffs overlooking Hendrawna Beach. It was his favourite place to walk and think, and he’d needed to do both. He’d found himself to be surprised by the events of the day, to have his dormant interest in women -- specifically one particularly lovely woman -- sparked as fiercely as it had. It wasn’t as if he’d lived the life of a monk since his break up. He’d spent a few drunken evenings making booty calls to Margaret, a woman he’d messed around with a few times back in school. It was one of the things he’d appreciated about her: she was a woman who knew what she wanted, and wasn’t ashamed to admit it. It was something that provided the both the opportunity for sexual release in the company of someone they trusted, and made the nights a little less lonely. But the last time he’d visited her he’d found himself walking out to his car, a hollowness filling his stomach, a yearning for something more. Six months later, and he stood on the brink of that something more, and he had no intention to ruin it, if he could help it. Based on their electronic tete-a-tete, he held high hopes for its success.

He withdrew his phone and thumbed through their early-morning chat, smiling as he strolled across the yard. He’d greatly enjoyed the exchange with Jinny, glad she found his occasionally sarcastic, self-deprecating sense of humour relatable, and liked her quick, facile mind. And her smile. And her laugh. And her legs. And her--

“Ross!”

Verity’s shout crackled through the outdoor speaker of the intercom, effectively breaking his concentration, which was probably for the best. “Coming!” He bounded up the back steps to the house, wiping off his boots on the scraper Verity had installed the second day of her residency at Nampara -- clods of mud inside the house were, apparently, unacceptable -- and opened the door. His senses were assailed with the fragrance of the anticipated lemon-poppyseed scones, but she’d upped the ante: coffee _and_ bacon. Verity was armed for bear. His stomach growled as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. “Traitor,” he grumbled. “Good morning, Verity.”

“Good morning, cousin! It’s a glorious day, isn’t it?”

He bit into a scone and groaned. “Getting better by the second.” He grabbed a mug off the dish rack and reached for the coffee pot. “So, where are these urgent invoices of yours?”

She waved her hand over to a random pile of papers on the dining room table. “We’ll get to those in a moment. Sit down! I bet you didn’t have anything to eat when you woke up.”

“Chasing that miserable dog through the chicken coop and manure pile at four o’clock in the morning pretty much killed my appetite. Two showers later and I swear I can still smell chicken shit in my hair.”

She coughed, but he suspected she was covering a laugh. “God, that’s awful.”

“Um-hmm. Your sympathy is overwhelming.” He eased into a chair and pulled the plate of bacon towards him. Lord, he loved bacon, and she knew it. “Alright, what do you want to know.”

Thirty minutes later, Ross managed to make his way back to the garage, feeling as if he’d been through the ringer. She’d been relentless, but disappointed in the scant amount of detail he’d been able to tell her. The truth of the matter was he didn’t have much more to tell her, at the moment. Verity beamed when he told her he was taking the pickup back to Jinny later today, but kept his tentative plans to have drinks with her afterwards to himself. No sense in jinxing it.

He made a few calls to chase down the part he needed before sitting down at the computer to work up the estimate. Finally, he flipped through his contact list and clicked Zacky Martin’s number.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Zacky Martin hit the speakerphone button on the third ring. “Carnemore Maintenance, Martin.”

“Ross Poldark, how are you, Zacky?” the voice on the other end greeted. Zacky had always liked the proprietor of Nampara Garage, ever since meeting him during the request for proposal process for the Leisure/Grace contract.

“Good, thanks. How is that pretty cousin of yours, Ross? Please thank her again for the generous gift basket she put together for the charity raffle last week.” The farm-fresh Nampara Basket-of-the-Month service was well known throughout the county and one of the items that drew the highest bids at the annual Carnemore Cares charity event. “Did you hear it drew well over a thousand pounds this year?”

“No kidding! That’s tremendous, Zacky, I know she’ll be thrilled.” They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Zacky asked what he could do for the young mechanic. “I got a call on one of your fleet Hiluxes last night at Leisure. I confirmed it was a faulty alternator and can get it replaced within the next couple hours. Sending the estimate to you now.”

The chime on Zacky’s computer announce the arrival of new mail. “Just got it. Let me put you on hold while I pull the vehicle history.”

“Sure thing,” Ross said.

Smooth jazz hold music filled Zacky’s office as he opened the electronic file on the vehicle. He discovered the vehicle was scheduled for a tune up in a little over a month. “Say, Ross, everything looks fine on this end and the price is fair, as always. But I notice our records show it’s due for a tune and oil change in a little over a month. There’s no hurry in getting back to us, if you can’t fit it in a bit early.” There was a pause on the other end. “Ross?”

“Er… sorry about that,” the mechanic said slowly, as if he were thinking. “I told the driver I could bring it back to her later today.”

“Did you now?” Zacky said, grinning. “And who might that be?”

Another pause. “A new project manager named Jinny Carter.”

“Oh, yes!” Zacky exclaimed, twiddling a pen through his fingers. “She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she?”

He could practically hear the boy blush over the line. “Yes, she is. Listen,” Ross said, clearing his throat. “I’ve had a cancelation come in that would have taken most of the rest of my day, so I can go ahead and do that tune and oil change this afternoon. I’ll update the estimate and send it your way as soon as we hang up.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, son. Go ahead and proceed with the work and we’ll settle up when you finish.”

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Zacky,” the mechanic said, and Zacky smiled at the excitement bubbling in the young man’s voice. “So long!”

“Goodbye, Ross,” Zacky said and hit the end call button, disconnecting the speakerphone. He picked up his cup of tea, took a long sip, and raised his eyes to the young woman nearly vibrating in the office chair next to his desk. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Miss Carne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you who have read, kudoed and commented so far! I'm glad you're enjoying it. I'm having a great deal of fun with this, despite the fact that I know next to nothing about cars so I've been googling the hell out of a LOT of stuff (how to repair an alternator in fifteen steps, for example...). 
> 
> You'll hear more about the social structure in this role reversal fic in the next chapter. I suspect the jig to be up fairly soon, and it could get messy. Stay tuned and please let me know what you think!


	3. Petrol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> A Modern Romelza AU.

“Andrew, were you able to make arrangements for lunch with my father and brothers today?” Demelza asked as she pushed past the heavy glass door of her outer office.

“Yes, Miss Carne, half past twelve at Tabb’s.” A tall, nice looking man around forty got up from his desk and met her near the door, a cup of tea in his hand. “I had to move your one o’clock with the project management leads to three. Will that be alright?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” Demelza confirmed, handing him her coat in exchange for the tea. “And it’s Demelza, Andrew.” She grinned, taking a sip from her cup. Perfect. “Are you and your children settling into your new home?”

“Yes, mis--I mean Demelza,” he said, a shy smile twitching the corners of his mouth. It was a smile that never seemed to reach his eyes, and betrayed a deep sadness that he held very close to the vest. He hung up her items in the closet and went back to his desk. “The relocation team made the move from Australia nearly effortless, and the executive staff has been very welcoming, and were able to help me get Esther and James into a nursery.” He nudged his glasses up his long, straight nose. “Thank you, again, for this opportunity.” Andrew Blamey was a widower who had relocated to the area with his young children from Kalgoorlie-Boulder, Western Australia only the week before. He was serious, quiet, efficient and the most diplomatic person she’d ever met.

She also liked the way his accent made her name sound exotic. “You’ve earned it.” She grinned as she settled at her desk and withdrew her laptop from her bag. “My brother Sam said your work in Western Australia was exemplary and I am grateful to have someone with as much institutional knowledge about the administration as my executive assistant.” She slid her phone out of her pocket, surreptitiously checking for new messages and was surprised to find herself disappointed.

“Speaking of settling in, Demelza.” She started, looking up to find Andrew standing at the sliding glass door separating their workspaces. “I’d hoped to take Friday off so we might visit our family in Falmouth. There’s a surprise seventieth birthday party for my father this weekend. It’s been nearly ten years since I’ve seen him., and it will be the first time he’ll have to meet his grandchildren.”

“Of course you can, Andrew!” Demelza exclaimed. She was a sucker for this sort of reunion story. “Does he have any idea the three of you will be there?”

Andrew shook his head. “No, I kept our plans to return to England quiet, just in case they fell through.” That sadness shifted over his eyes once again, clearing with a blink. “The timing was such that it was agreed with my cousin to have it be a part of the surprise.”

“Well, feel free to take next Monday off as well,” she urged. “Please make the most of the visit. I’m to fly to Victor, Colorado on Thursday to meet with Newmont and will be there until Wednesday morning. I insist.”

He beamed. “Thank you so much, Demelza.”

“You’re more than welcome, Andrew. Please be sure to give Captain Blamey my warmest regards.” Her mobile chimed, announcing the arrival of a new text. She picked it up, her heart giving a hard thump in her chest at the name on the text bubble. “I’m sorry, I must take this. Please close the door for me?” He nodded and eased the glass panel shut.

From: Ross Poldark  
To: Jinny Carter  
17/05/2016 10:45  
  
Was asked to give the give the truck a tune up and oil change, so I won’t be ready to bring it to town until closer to 5. Still OK? I hope?

 

She laughed at the picture he’d attached. It was Garrick, sitting up on his hind legs, begging.

From: Jinny Carter  
To: Ross Poldark  
17/05/2016 10:46

LOL! Sending him in to do your dirty work for you, eh?

From: Ross Poldark  
To: Jinny Carter  
17/05/2016 10:48

Colour me desperate enough to re-engage with the enemy to secure a positive outcome. He was rewarded for the sacrifice to his honour (half a scone). Don’t leave me hanging, now...

 

Was it possible for this man to be any more alluring? _Stupid question, Demelza_ , she thought to herself. The brain and heart were having minute-by-minute arguments over the issue. She could easily fancy herself half in love with him already, but how on earth could something like that be possible when he didn’t even know who she really was? That point was driven home to her when she’d read his last of his early morning texts.

 

> _Excellent! Since it’s a fleet vehicle I’ll need to submit the estimate to your maintenance division’s office, so I’ll do that as soon as Zacky gets in at nine. Should have a better idea of when I’ll be finished so I’ll text you to confirm. OK?_

Ordinarily, Ross sending the repair estimate to Carnemore’s fleet manager would be completely appropriate. In this situation, however, Zacky Martin was Jinny Carter’s father! Demelza had managed to send Ross what she’d hoped was a carefree, blazé text to satisfy the need to affirm his request before she’d allowed for a moment of panic. Taking a deep breath, she’d hastily scrolled through her contacts and pounded out an email:

To: Martin, Zacky ([ zacky.martin@carnemore.com ](mailto:zacky.martin@carnemore.com) )  
Sent: Tuesday, 17 May 2016 06:51  
From: Carne, Demelza ( [ demelza.carne@carnemore.com ](mailto:demelza.carne@carnemore.com) )  
Subject: URGENT -- Incoming repair estimate I can explain wait for me B4 you reply EOM

She’d paced, nibbling on a hangnail which  -- under normal circumstances --  she’d promptly attend to with her manicure scissors for what felt like forever, before she received a response.

From: Martin, Zacky ([ zacky.martin@carnemore.com ](mailto:zacky.martin@carnemore.com) )  
Sent: Tuesday, 17 May 2016 07:03  
To: Carne, Demelza ( [ demelza.carne@carnemore.com ](mailto:demelza.carne@carnemore.com) )  
Subject: RE: URGENT -- Incoming repair estimate I can explain wait for me B4 you reply EOM

Yes, ma’am, although you’ve got me scratching my head. You didn’t total it, now did you? :-)

She met the poor man and his daughter as soon as they’d exited the lift. Fortunately, both had proved to have a sense of humour about the entire situation. Thank God.  
  
She set the phone down, picked up her tea and spun around to stare morosely out towards the view of the Truro River below. She’d had plenty of time to ponder the ridiculous situation she found herself in as she’d tossed and turned during the night. Caroline had been absolutely right: the paparazzi had been well paid for their work. The morning paper’s society pages were filled with splashy photographs from Drake’s graduation party. Handsome, wealthy and single, Drake Carne had been declared one of the county’s most eligible bachelors the minute he’d turned eighteen and speculation around his love life was rampant. Thankfully, he was as uninterested by the attention -- if not more so -- than his elder brother Samuel had been. Despite all of the advantages the Carne children had had, they’d managed to grow up to be level-headed and...well...normal.

Which was why all of the machinations she’d done the day before were simply untoward. Ross Poldark had done nothing to make her think he’d look upon her – as Demelza – any differently than he would as Jinny. Both he and his cousin had struck her as lovely, down-to-earth people that she would love to have the chance to get to know better. Why must she assume either of them would change their opinion of her, or -- even worse -- attempt to get something from her because of who she was? If anything, they’d have plenty of reasons to think her a snobbish elitist based on the lie she’d perpetuated. Should things go sideways, she’d only have herself to blame.

 _Enough time brooding over this stupid predicament, Carne. Do something constructive about it._ She picked up her phone, the words forming neatly in the text box. _Can we do supper instead of drinks? Wish to talk._ Her thumb hovered over the send key for what felt like years when her land line buzzed to life. She jumped reflexively, her thumb pressing down on ‘send” before she had a second to blink. “Oh well,” she sighed, slipping the phone in her bag. “Too late to change your mind now, Dee.”

~*~*~*~*~

Ross leaned back against the shop wall, his legs crossed at the ankle, and bit into one of the last scones Verity let him sneak out of the house. Although he could eat a batch of the bloody marvelous things on his own, he only allowed himself three whenever she made them. She was a phenomenal cook, inventive and always looking for new things to try out on him, much to the detriment of his waistline, as he’d discovered when he had to buy a larger size pair of jeans within the first month of her residency. Since then, he paid closer attention to what he put into his gob.

Fortunately, they ate fairly healthily most of the rest of the time. Her plans to turn the back fields into a small, organic vegetable cooperative had seemed laughable at first. And he had laughed, before he’d taken in the set of her jaw. She was a Poldark, after all, and stubbornness was part of their DNA. He’d watched her drive the tractor to till, tend to their compost heap to turn it into top notch fertilizer to amend the soil and, when her first spectacular crop of tomatoes, french beans, cucumbers, aubergines, carrots, onions, and salad leaves came in, he’d become a true believer.

Besides how many people could enjoy a farm-fresh omelet with cheese, roasted onions and tomatoes for breakfast with ingredients obtained within three acres of one’s back door?

In truth, Ross figured he would have let Verity do anything she wanted with the place if it meant she would stay with him. He’d been shattered after the betrayal he’d suffered at the hands of Francis and Elizabeth. He’d packed up and moved from his townhome in the city, shutting himself up in the stone cottage on the cliffs he’d only kept out of sentimental duty. Cold, damp, dust-filled and as miserable as he’d felt in those first few weeks. It wasn’t until he’d heard Verity shouting his name whilst pounding on the rickety back door that he’d realized how much he’d missed simple human companionship. She’d made him some soup before borrowing his truck. A few hours later she turned up with boxes of her belongings in the bed and Seamus hitched up in his trailer, declaring her intention to stay. It wasn’t long before some of the colour had begun to seep back into his world.

He heard the big chestnut gelding whinny and opened his eyes to find Verity saddling up the horse for her late morning ride. Resuming his passion for riding was one way he’d been able to work off the extra pounds. Of course, he’d groused a bit about her bringing the horse with her when she left Trenwith. The barn had been in disrepair for years, and could never compare with the stately brick stable the horse had been accustomed to. His grumbling ended when she suggested he take Seamus out for a ride. He’d forgotten how much he’d loved galloping along the beach, without a care in the world. Since that day, he did his best to go out at least three times a week.

His phone pinged the arrival of a text. _From Jinny_ , a voice in his head teased. So what if he’d already personalized the tone for incoming messages? He slipped the phone from his back pocket:

From: Jinny Carter  
To: Ross Poldark  
17/05/2016 11:00

Can we do supper instead of drinks? Wish to talk.

 

That sounded decidedly serious. He coughed, a crumb from the scone caught in his windpipe. He took several chugs from his water bottle before stalking back into the garage. His mind raced down the path of catastrophic thinking so quickly it made his head swim. She had a boyfriend. A husband. An angry father. Finally, reason grabbed a hold of him by the scruff and gave him a shake. She wouldn’t have accepted an invitation for drinks – now upgraded to supper – if she was attached, now would she?

So, where to go for supper? He wandered around the garage, pondering their options. The local had fantastic gastropub fare, but it was noisy and likely to be crowded because of the Cornwall U20s rugby match against Berkshire. The only other local restaurant had closed the previous autumn. Vegan, French-Chinese fusion might have worked in London, or maybe Truro, but not up here. He glanced outside, where Garrick lay on his back, legs sprawled, basking in the sun. Perhaps he could convince Verity to put something together that he could take with him so they could eat out by the beach? It _was_ a beautiful day, with only a hint of clouds to the west, and Hendrawna was the prettiest stretch of sand for miles and miles. _That’s called a picnic_ , his conscious poked at him _. Isn’t it too soon to be plotting romantic meals al fresco? You only met her yesterday!_

But he wanted to picnic with her, could picture doing so many things with her and – he was happy to say – not all of them required a Mature rating. He wanted to take her riding, he was certain of that. Her enchanting reaction to Seamus the night before made it clear she’d love it. Still, it was best for him to slow down a bit. Leaping into something without a second thought was something of a habit of his. His late uncle would have summed it up in one word: reckless. While most of those decisions hadn’t bitten him in the arse yet, there was no sense in setting himself up for a painful fall.

“Who are you kidding, Poldark?” he snorted. He typed his response and grinned broadly when he received hers in return within seconds.

From: Ross Poldark  
To: Jinny Carter  
17/05/2016 11:06

Supper = drinks+food I’ve no whiz at maths but I’d consider that the better equation. 5 at your office?

 

From: Jinny Carter  
To: Ross Poldark  
17/05/2016 11:06

:-) I’ve a meeting at the cathedral until 5. Meet me at the plaza on High Cross?

  
A tune came unbidden in his head: _Goin’ to the chapel, and we’re gonna get married_ ...He shook himself, realizing he’d drifted off into a vision of ginger hair and wedding veils. _Get an effing grip, Poldark, and answer the text._ He shouldn’t keep the lady waiting.

From: Ross Poldark  
To: Jinny Carter  
17/05/2016 11:08

See you then! :-)

 

“Verity! Wait!” he called out, jogging towards the barn. “I need a favour.”

~*~*~*~*~

Demelza slowed her pace as she approached the corner on High Cross. The stone plaza on the northeast side of Truro Cathedral was a lovely place to meet for lunch, to hear buskers perform, or a convenient spot for one to make a secret assignation away from the rush of one’s employees leaving the office for the evening. There was far too great a chance of someone calling her by her real name if he’d picked her up at the office. He deserved to hear the truth from her first. Not that she was looking forward to what she figured would be an extremely uncomfortable conversation to have on one’s first date.

She winced. She’d been very careful not to use the word, as if the mere mention of it could jinx it before it had a chance to start. But it had felt like a date when she’d gone up to her flat to pick out what to wear. It was a good thing she’d blocked off her calendar for an hour before she had to leave. It had taken her half that time to settle on a simple off the shoulder white blouse and her favorite pair of skinny jeans with the fringe at the bottom and a pair of ballet flats. She brought the beautiful, garden-print, cashmere scarf Caroline had given her only the night before, just in case she needed something to keep her warm. Her mind drifted to the memory of his hands against her arms, the warmth of his body radiating against hers and found that source of heat much preferred over the scarf.

 _Down, girl._ It was the daydreaming that almost made her late in arriving.

She was checking her phone when she heard a brief toot from a car horn. She glanced up to see Ross raising the fingers of his right hand from the steering wheel to wave. Her entire body flushed at the broad smile he gave her when she returned his salute. He eased the truck along the single yellow line and hit the hazard lights, stepping down from the driver’s side to come around to hers.

It was all she could do not to drool. His hair was free from the top knot he’d worn the day before, masses of curls most women spent hundreds of pounds trying to create framing his face, as glossy black as the beard that had drawn her attention the first moment she’d seen him. Strands of copper gleamed in the sun, creating a unique depth to the texture that made her fingers itch to touch. The slate-blue t-shirt accentuated his olive skin, the fit his toned physique. Her eyes lingered on the wisps of curling chest hair peeking from the collar of his shirt near the hollow of his neck. Black jeans worn low on the hips drew her attention to his gait, graceful and swaggering at the same time. He wore the same pair of well-worn boots, scuffed and battered from what she assumed to have been years of wear. She instantly wondered what he would look like, dressed to the nines in a sleek tuxedo, the crisp white collar aligning with his jaw, before she pictured him naked, lean and strong, her fair hand brushing against hi--

“Jinny?” Ross said tentatively. “You okay?”

She jerked back to reality, horrified by the deep blush that now stained her cheeks and chest. It was the curse of the gingers: practically glow in the dark when they blush. “Yes! Yes, of course, sorry,” she babbled, scrambling for the scarf to throw around her shoulders. She raised her eyes to meet his as he removed the sunglasses, sweeping the hair away from his face. They were the colour of emerald and topaz, filled with simmering desire and concern. _Dear lord, get a hold of yourself, Jin-I mean Demelza!_ “Hello, Ross.” He took her hand as she stood on tiptoe to brush her cheek against his in greeting and caught a whiff of his cologne.

She consigned her soul to the devil, stepping back to meet Ross’s gaze. “So, where shall we go for supper?”

He grinned. He needed to stop that.  “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of bringing something from home.” He nodded at the basket and blanket in the back seat. “One of Verity’s baskets. Some cheese, bread, meats and veg, a little something for pudding, along with some of our cider.” He looked uncertain for a moment. “A picnic at Hendrawna, perhaps?”

“It sounds great,” she said, positively delighted by the idea and feeling some of the tension lift from her shoulders. “I love that stretch of beach, very much.”

“Same here,” he said, opening the door for her, letting her get settled before closing it. “It’s very close to Nampara, so we’ve always considered it to be ours. Of course, that’s not true, but it’s nice to think of that.” He stood by the window, simply looking at her for a long moment. “You look beautiful tonight.”

She covered her cheeks. “Oh, get in, will you?” she said. He laughed as he jogged around the front of the truck and eased into his seat. “You keep that up and I’ll faint from lack of blood to my brain.”

He turned the key in the ignition, leaning close enough for her to touch. “I’ll just have to catch you.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

They drove the twenty minutes to Hendrawna engaged in the kind of conversation one always hopes to have with someone they are interested in: natural, entertaining, full of moments of flirtation and sidelong glances, mysterious smiles and laughter, so much laughter. She’d told him she was the only girl and eldest of seven children, crucial intelligence he found to be the perfect deterrent from ever doing anything to upset her. She’d gone to uni in Oxford and had just completed her master’s in mineral science and business administration. Ross had swallowed at that. He’d had to quit his coursework in automotive engineering from the University of the West of England, Bristol when he father had died suddenly. He’d had another year to go and, by the time he’d come out from under the fog of his grief, the desire to finish had gone. He’d kicked himself for giving up more times than he could count, and had a lingering insecurity around it. But here was this brainy, beautiful girl clearly enjoying his company, despite having a bunch of letters after her name.

He’d slipped his sunglasses on -- because of the glare from the sun, of course -- but it afforded him the opportunity to sneak looks at her. She looked lovely in a carefree and natural sort of way, her hair in a loose, messy braid that ran along her bare shoulder, his hand itching to follow its path. He’d noticed the tasselled cuffs at her delicate ankles when she crossed her long, slender legs and was forced to shift his gaze back onto the road. No sense in getting them killed before they could have their first kiss.

He pulled into the paved car park and turned off the engine. “How hungry are you?” he asked. Everything he said could be easily misconstrued into innuendo, but he couldn’t help that. He was hungry, for supper and her.

“Plenty.” Jinny looked back at the basket and nibbled her bottom lip. _God_. “Is that fresh baked bread?”

He laughed, the tension building within him broken by her winning smile. “Could very well be.” He took off his sunglasses, tossed them onto the fascia. “Want to check it out?” He unfastened his belt, opened the door and picked up the basket. “Let me get your door.”

They decided to take a walk along the beach to stretch their legs after the drive. Their hands brushed a few times before he finally caught hers up in his. The touch of her skin against his was electric, and they both had a moment of shyness. It was an  acknowledgement of the chemistry that had sizzled between them since he’d first laid eyes upon her, an alchemy she returned, if the warmth of her gaze was any indication.

“It’s official, then,” she murmured as they returned to the truck for their picnic. He glanced down at her, confused. She gave him a bashful smile. “It’s a date.”

“Oh no, you didn’t!” Ross released her hand to plug his ears with his fingers. “La, la, la, la, la! You said the D word, not me!” It was her turn to laugh and gave him a light slap on the arm. He hopped up onto the bed of the truck, spread the blanket and offered her his hand. “Come join me?”

They settled on the blanket and pulled the basket between them, exploring the contents together. Delicious, cold ham and potato pasties; fragrant rolls; aged cheddar and smoked gouda; sweet, baby carrots, cherry tomatoes, olives marinated in thyme, red pepper flake and garlic; with strawberries and clotted cream for pudding. “Oh, Ross, this is marvelous!” Jinny exclaimed, tearing a hunk of bread with her elegant, well-manicured fingers. She dipped it into the marinade, sinking her straight, white teeth into the crackling crust. She closed her eyes and moaned with delight.

 _When did the mere act of eating become so erotic?_ “I call Verity ‘chef’ at home, but she balk at the title,” he said, feeling the need to change the subject before he did something stupid. “She has taken a number of cookery courses at Philleigh Way in Truro and more at The Fat Hen down in Penzance before she moved up to Nampara with me last year. She’s doing so well with her organic farming and catering I’ve a hope she’ll open a restaurant.” He took a sip of cider, savouring the flavour on his tongue. “As a matter of fact, there’s a space where she could set up shop quite easily, just down the road from the house, but she doesn’t think she has the proper skills for it.”

“Nonsense,” she countered, popping a tomato into her mouth and chewing with relish. “She’s so personable she’d be a charming hostess for her own cafe. All she needs is a good front-of-house person, so she could focus on what’s happening in the back of the house--”

“--and the capital, of course,” Ross said, his thoughts turning serious. “I’ve a little set by, but nothing that she would need to get the place near us up to her standards.” He bit into one of the pasties and groaned. “Honestly, as much as I love having her work her magic around my kitchen, it hasn’t been updated for commercial use so I worry the appliances will give up the ghost sooner rather than later.”

“You know, I’d be happy to talk with her about this, I mean, if you don’t think she’d object.” Her crystal clear blue eyes sparkled with vitality and eagerness. “Might as well use some of what I learned to help someone.”

“That’s very kind of you, Jinny, thank you.” He was touched by her desire to get to know his cousin better, to help encourage her to broaden her horizons. They continued their feast, laughing and chattering, all of their focus and attention on their meal and each other.

Until a clap of thunder rumbled through the air. Ross looked up to find the clouds, that had been off in the horizon while they were walking, moving inland and quickly. “Merde,” he muttered. “We need to pack up now unless we want to get drenched. Give me a hand!” They scrambled, rewrapping pies and sealing up containers as the first fat drops of rain from the squall came down. He had reached up to help her down when the deluge hit. She squealed when he closed his hands around her waist and swung her down. “Grab the blanket!” he shouted as he snatched the handle of the basket before they ran around to the passenger side of the vehicle. He opened the door and she jumped in, laughing as he darted around the front to the truck to the driver’s side. He tossed the basket into the back and leapt into his seat.

The rain hammered down on the roof of the truck, their gasps for breath after the mad dash the only other sound in the cab. “Oh, merde,” he sighed.

“If you think you’re sparing my delicate sensibilities by using the French word for ‘shit’, you can forget it,” she teased, squeezing water from her braid that fell onto her thigh.  “What is it?”

He arched a brow. “I just detailed this thing!”

They looked at their surroundings, the interior of the cab now littered with sand and water everywhere. They burst out laughing, the hilarity of the situation rolling over them like a wave. As their mirth subsided, Ross glanced at Jinny. She’d thrown her head back when she started laughing, and several strands loosened from her braid were plastered against her cheek and along the graceful column of her neck. Water glistened on her bare shoulders, sprinkled with freckles he longed to kiss. The lace of her strapless bra was visible through her nearly translucent blouse.  He jerked his gaze up to meet hers, his heart pounding in his ears, its rhythm matching the one he noted in the hollow of her throat.

“Ross,” she breathed, all humour gone, her eyes darkening under his regard. He reached up, brushing a long, curling strand of hair from her bottom lip with his thumb, cupped his hand around the back of her neck and kissed her.

It began as a light, brushing of lips; a sweet, gentle exploration of the newness of one another’s mouths, nibbling tenderness and all he’d dared to hope for. All of the flirtatious texts and glances of the last twenty four hours had stoked the slow burn towards this moment. The tip of her tongue traced the seam between his lips and the kiss deepened, tasting of strawberries, cider and the trembling urgency of discovery. He shuddered when her fingers slipped through the hair at his nape. He gathered her as close as he could, cursing the center console so typical of modern trucks to hell as their heads moved in unison, mouths tasting, teeth nipping, heat rising. She parted from him only long enough to clamber over the console and into his lap before reclaiming his mouth. Her hip bumped up against the horn a few times while Ross scrabbled for the seat controls with one hand, the other slipping under the hem of her blouse, touching the warm skin of her lower back. He reclined his seat with a thump that made their teeth click against one another’s before they resumed the mindless, glorious mating of their mouths. The sweet, sighing moans she made sent waves of need straight to his cock, aching within its constraints.

He didn’t care.  It was all about this kiss, this woman, this moment with her as they turned rainwater to steam with the heat of their desire. “Jinny,” he growled, his mouth leaving hers to sample the skin of her jaw and throat.

She tensed under his caress. “Ross, oh God,” she rasped, pressing her palms against his chest and drawing back.

“What is it?” he asked, anxiety turning his blood cold. “What have I done?”

She shook her head “You’ve done nothing wrong,” she said, her bottom lip quivering. “It’s me...it’s why I said I needed to talk to you.” There were tears in her eyes as she sat shivering in his arms.

“You’re freezing, aren’t you? Where’s your wrap?” They looked around for it and found it in the foot well, covered with sand and useless. “Here, budge back over to your seat and we’ll go up to the garage. I’ve a waiting room for customers there, with a fireplace and coffee or tea. Will that be alright?” She nodded and pressed a kiss to his cheek, just along the edge of his beard. He adjusted his seat and, wincing a bit, removed the key from his pocket. He turned the motor over and cranked the heat before backing out to head home.

They drove the short, five minute trip to Nampara in near silence. As they neared the curving drive towards the house he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He had to know, and now. “You’ve… I mean you’re not going to tell me you’re seeing someone else, are you?”

Her eyes flashed to meet his. “No! Oh no, Ross, that’s not it at all,” she said, placing her small hand on his thigh. Relief flooded him and he released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “It really is so stupid and something I shouldn’t have done.”

Good Lord, what the hell could it be? He laced his fingers with hers. “Do you regret what happened?”

“No,” she said softly, rubbing the pad of her thumb along his knuckle. “I think I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you.” Her cheeks flamed, the colour following a path down her throat and to her chest. It was like watching time-lapse footage of a rose in bloom and he had difficulty keeping his eyes on the road.

He cleared his throat. “I as well,” he murmured. “It was clear to me there was...something there, something I wanted to explore.”

“Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, Ross,” she said as they pulled in front of the garage, her voice trembling. “I mean, I barely know you and here I am, climbing into your lap and attacking you.”

He laughed, turning off the engine and picking up her hand. He kissed her palm. “I want you to know me, Jinny, as much as I want to get to know you.” She’d pulled her hand from his and closed her eyes when he’d said her name, a furrow marring the smooth skin of her brow. He stroked it with his thumb before leaning across the console to kiss her once more. “Now, let’s go inside and get you warm. I’ve got some blankets that we can bundle up in until the fire gets going.” She nodded sadly.  “It’s going to be alright, Jinny, I promise.”

As he walked around the front of the truck to her side, Ross noticed Verity ushering two people from the house, a man holding a giant golf umbrella and a woman carrying one of her gift baskets. _Score another one for Team Verity_ , he thought to himself as he opened Jinny’s door. They were making their dash towards the office’s covered porch when a voice cried out.

“Demelza Carne! As I live and breathe!” the woman exclaimed, thrusting the basket into the man’s arms, snatching the umbrella and running over to where they stood. Ross looked down at Jinny, confused by the woman’s outburst and worried at the pallor of Jinny’s skin. “It has been ages since I saw you at the Children's Hospice South West Foundation meeting last October! I’d heard you were back in town. What on earth are you doing up here?” The woman thrust her hand in Ross’s direction and gave him a long, appraising look. “Ruth Treneglos. Very pleased to meet you. How did you meet our dear Demelza here?”

Ross took a step back, blinking as he watched the woman he knew as Jinny Carter raise her embarrassed, horror-filled eyes to meet his. “Who _are_ you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wee bitty cliffie? :-) 
> 
> Thanks to rainpuddle and xxsparksxx for their help with this one and to all of you who have taken a chance on this one. I really appreciate it!
> 
> EDITED TO ADD: I had something pointed out to me by a commenter that the scene where Ross and Demelza are kissing reminded them of a marvelous piece of work by my friend @vitiscouso on Tumblr. It's a [drawing of Ross and Elizabeth having a bit of a makeout session in the front seat of a car.](http://vitiscouso.tumblr.com/post/152782025770/i-said-i-wanted-elizaboss-makeouts-in-a-car-and) I don't know if it helped to inspire my writing of the Romelza scene or not... I love her work, so it very well could have. So, just in case, I wanted to make sure there was a mention of it here.


	4. Ignition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
>  
> 
> **Until now.**
> 
>  
> 
> A Modern Romelza AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter titles I've selected all have a double meaning. Roundabout = the telling of little white lies that result in going around and around, down and down... Bulkhead = The American term is firewall...building up protection from heat... Petrol = well...incendiary...
> 
> Ignition? Read on. Please note: there's a lot of swearing and hurling of invectives and awful names ahead.

“Who  _ are  _ you?”

Ross’s words hung in the air, air which Demelza had difficulty taking into her lungs. She’d felt the blood rush from her head the instant she recognized Ruth’s face, the same instant the woman’s shrill, nasal voice had cut across the yard to ring in her ears.

“Who _ is _ she?” Ruth stared up at Ross, incredulous. “She’s Demelza Carne, of course,” she quipped. “Vice President of Carnemore Minerals. That’s one of their company trucks.” Her eyes flicked between the two of them with interest. Demelza realized the kind of image the two of them presented: damp and rumpled; her lipstick, smeared from her lips, now shimmering across his. Ruth grinned. “Surely you must re--”

“--Ruth,” Demelza interrupted, “Unfortunately I’m in a bit of a rush right now.” She looked over Ruth’s head to see Verity frowning as she observed the trio’s interaction, completely ignoring Ruth’s husband, John, who stood gaping like a fish, as usual. 

“But we’ve so much to catch up on, the first thing being an introduction to your...friend here,” Ruth said, sliding her eyes along Ross’s frame. She stuck her hand out again. “Ruth Treneglos. And you are?”

Demelza could see the muscles of his jaw clench through his beard. “Ross Poldark,” he said, taking her hand in his to shake.

“Oh! Well I’m very pleased to meet you,” Ruth said, taking her damn time in releasing it. “You’re Verity’s husband?” she asked salaciously. 

Demelza wished the ground would open and swallow her whole. “Her cousin, Ms Treneglos.” His tone was short and flat, unlike anything she’d heard from him before. “Miss Carne, let’s go in and finish the paperwork so you can be on your way.” 

“Y-Yes, thank you,” she said, her throat tight with shame. “I’ll be in touch with you about the foundation meeting next month, Ruth.”

“Of course, dear,” she said, her eyes sparkling with what Demelza knew was glee over the juicy piece of gossip she’d just acquired. “Goodbye, Mr Poldark. Next time, I’ll be sure to come up here to get a tune up.”

Demelza was horrified by the innuendo, thinking,  _ I could effing murder her.  _ Ross took hold of her elbow and walked her into the office. He released her as soon as the door closed behind them, one hand reaching for the chain dangling from the “Open” sign before flicking the lock and turning on the lights. “Coffee’s over by the desk,” he said, not looking at her. “Make yourself some, if you want, while I get you a towel.”

“Ross, I--” 

He cut her off with a narrowed glance. “No. Not yet.” He took the stairs two at a time to an upper loft space she only became aware of by following his movements. She took a moment to look at her surroundings. The office more closely resembled a large, comfortable living area, a clever mixture of rustic and modern architecture. Several old Turkish rugs were scattered under seating areas, partially obscuring a floor of polished concrete. There was a large, stone fireplace with a large, neon Mobil Gas sign, sporting a red Pegasus, sat proudly over a mantelpiece of solid, chunky oak.  Comfortable leather couches bracketed a steel and glass coffee table, a jumble of car magazines carelessly arranged for customers to read. Several vintage petrol station signs adorned the walls and a pool table beckoned anyone who was up for a game. She walked over towards the bar to the Keurig machine, noticing he had a beverage fridge with bottled water and what looked like a couple of bottles of cider. She was tempted to have one of those instead of the coffee, but felt it best to keep her wits about her.

She leaned against the counter, cradling her face in her hands. What on earth could she say now to make him understand? She’d done everything in her power to avoid this very thing from happening: early morning emails, embarrassing admissions, even sneaking away from the office. What were the odds that John and Ruth, who lived all the way in Bodmin, would stop by a quaint farm stand, today of all days? 

And they’d had such a lovely afternoon. Lovely?  _ Rather tepid word for it _ , she thought to herself. It was about as close to perfection as could have been possible. The walking and talking, their picnic and their kiss. She touched her lips with the tips of her fingers, almost able to feel the pressure of his against them, the brush of his sleek beard along her cheek. Had it lasted only a few seconds? She wished it had gone on for days, the rumbling sounds of pleasure emanating from his throat, the taste of his tongue as it had tangled with hers, the heat of his broad, work-roughened hand against her back. His hair had felt like silk slipping through her fingers, and she remembered how he’d trembled at her touch when she traced his ear ever so lightly with her nail. He’d felt solid, hard under her hands, and he’d wanted her. She’d felt the evidence of his need under her as she straddled his lap, had begun to flex her hips against him to soothe the firestorm of desire building between her thighs when he’d said her...Jinny’s name.  

She hoarded each memory as it came to her -- all, save the latter -- so fearful they would be the last. And if they were, she’d have no one to blame but herself.

“Here. Dry off.” She spun around, finding him standing within arm’s length, a large towel in his hands. “I’ll get the fire.”

She took the towel as he walked past her to the fridge. “Y-You really don’t have to do th--”

“No, I can’t afford to have a client die of hypothermia in my house,” he snapped, slamming the door of the beverage fridge. “The insurance premiums would certainly go through the roof.” The sarcastic words scored her heart. He wrenched the cap from the bottle with an opener which clattered on the counter, watching his strong throat work as he took several swallows of cider. He stalked over to the fireplace, snatching a box of matches off the mantel and struck one, the sandpapery rasp echoing in the space. He brought the carefully laid paper and kindling to life, adding logs as the fire grew. The silence in the room grew more and more unbearable with each second that passed. At last, he rose to his feet, standing still for several moments before he turned to face her. His expression was unreadable. “Would you care to explain to me what just happened here, Ji…” He closed his eyes, a furrow forming between his brows. “Excuse me.” His jade-gold eyes met hers. “Demelza.”

It was not the way she’d hoped to hear him speak her name for the first time. A murmur over the telephone, a whisper in her ear, a laugh during a cuddle, a groan as he shuddered inside her. Never ground out in anger from between his clenched teeth. “Ros--”

“--What in the hell am I supposed to think?” he interrupted, cutting her off with a glance. “That you thought it would be a nice bit of fun, slumming with one of the commoners? See how the other half lives?”

“No!” she said, her temper rising as he paced back and forth in front of the fire. “It-It was a simple mistake! You called me ‘Jinny’ because of the name on the shirt!”

“Then why tell me your last name was Carter?” he asked, incredulously, spinning around to face her. “Why not sort it out, right there and then? ‘Sorry, no, my name is Demelza Carne, pleased to meet you.’” He’d made a mocking imitation of her voice that made her stomach churn, half rage, half regret, before resuming the resonant baritone that bounced off the stone walls and concrete floor. “How fucking hard was that? We would have had a bit of a laugh and been done with it.” She stood there, every word a lash to her soul. The cold from her damp clothes seemed to seep into her bones, despite the increasing warmth of the space. “But no,” he scoffed. “You have to continue this...whatever it is...this  _ folly _ of yours by sending me witty, flirtatious texts, building you up to be someone you’re not!”

“But that  _ was _ me, Ross!” she exclaimed. She leaned against the counter, dizzy with anxiety, pinned under the intensity of his furious gaze. “I wanted to tell you in person,” she whispered. “Face-to-face. I owed you that much.”

“Fair enough. However…” He jabbed his finger in the direction of the beach. “We’ve  _ been _ together, face-to-face, for the last two hours!” The fact of that statement settled upon Demelza’s shoulders like a lead weight. “While we were in the car on the drive up, talking about random nonsense. On the beach, walking hand-in-hand. During our picnic as we as we all but fed one another!” he said, counting off the opportunities she’d had to tell him on his long fingers. Suddenly, he stepped forward until he was no more than inches from her, leaning close enough for her to catch the scent of his cologne and the musk of his sweat, another assault on her senses. “Or how about while we were literally face-to-face, eh?” he growled, his voice dark and seductive. “Snogging and grinding hot enough to make me praise a god I don’t believe in for my luck.” His arms bracketed her as his eyes bore down into hers, lowering to stare heatedly at her mouth. “It was fucking bliss, you  _ know _ it was.”

“Yes,” she gasped, sickened by her body’s response to his voice, his nearness. It  _ had _ been bliss, a moment of perfect happiness that she would have been happy to last forever. She looked at his mouth, the full lips she’d tasted only moments before. It would have been so easy to close the scant inches between them, to kiss him once again. The desire he’d had for her still lingered in his eyes, despite all of the anger emanating from him like waves.

“Bliss, I swear, until...” He paused, raising his gaze to the ceiling as if he’d had a lightbulb go off over his head. He took a step back. “I called you Jinny.”  _ Oh, God _ , she thought to herself. He looked at her, eyes blazing. “Is there  _ really _ a Jinny Carter out there somewhere?  Or is she some fiction you trot out whenever you need a convenient cover identity? To keep the unwashed, fortune-hunting masses at bay?”

That hit far too close to the truth for comfort. She nodded, shattered, his countenance a blur from the tears she could no longer keep at bay. “She’s Zacky Martin’s daughter.”

“ _ Zacky’s _ daughter?” He stared at her, as if she’d grown horns and a tail, before erupting in humourless laughter. “Oh, he must have had a right laugh about all this. ‘Poldark’s such a fool he doesn’t even know who the great Demelza Carne is!’” He took another swallow of cider, glaring at her over the bottle. “Well, I certainly do now, don’t I? She’s a fucking heiress, out for a quick shag with the local mechanic. How rich is that!”

“Ross, please,” she begged, crying, “w-won’t you give me a c-chance to explain?”

“What for?” he spat, stalking towards the fireplace, as if he could not get far enough away from her. “Why should I believe anything that comes out of that pretty little mouth of yours, Jin-D-Demelza….GODDAMMIT!” he bellowed, flinging the bottle into the hearth. She flinched at the sudden motion and the vehemence of his curse. Glass shattered and the logs hissed from the cider. He sat on the couch as if someone had cut him off at the knees, his hands covering his face. She could barely make out the words he spoke. “....first ...I’ve felt….wanted to know better, since…” He shook his head. “Go, Ms Carne.” His voice sounded weary to the bone. “The keys are still in the ignition. Please, just leave me be.”

She folded the towel and ran.

~*~*~*~*~

The truck’s tires spat a shower of gravel against the glass door of the office. Ross barely registered the sound, barely heard anything beyond the white noise buzzing in his brain.  _ How quickly one’s life can go from clover to horseshit _ , he thought painfully and leaned back against the couch cushion, disregarding the damage the cloying, damp material of his shirt wreaked upon the leather.

He didn’t give a toss about anything at the moment. Anyone watching him would think he was suffering a heart attack. Which he was, in a manner of speaking. The colossal ache in his chest was almost unbearable. He was nauseous and sweating, as if he’d been punched in the balls. He closed his eyes, only to have images of the ginger-haired beauty that had occupied his mind, every minute, every second since he’d seen her at Leisure twenty-four hours before. He could still feel her lips against his, the smooth skin of her lower back and the valley of her spine as it curved towards her buttocks. The press of her breasts against his chest, her fingers in his hair, the small circles she traced against his cock with her hips. Her scent, warm and delicately floral, her taste as he nipped along her long, graceful neck.

“Jin…” He stopped himself, half aroused once again by the memories. He swore, vividly and with great fluency as he surged from the couch to mount the stairs up to the bedroom loft above the office. Once there, he hauled the t-shirt over his head, sitting on the bed to attack the wet laces of his boots. Moments later, he stormed naked into the en suite and turned the water in the shower to boiling, only to yelp like Garrick until he adjusted the the temperature to his liking.

He stood, the water cascading from the rainfall showerhead he’d taken a fancy to when he decided to build this place. He did much of his best thinking here and, as the icy cold that had seeped into his bones began to dissipate, much of the reason that had fled at his discovery returned.

Why? Why should he care  _ this _ much about someone he’d known little more than a day?  _ You said it yourself, you idiot, only last night.  _ He’d grown so accustomed to loneliness. It sheltered him from the hurt he knew could shake him to his core, had done only a year before. And now there she was. What was it about her deception that bit so deep he couldn’t bring himself to say her given name?

_ She, she, she!  _ The name lay thick on his tongue, incapable of forming the sounds comprising it.   _ Say it!  _ “Demelza.” He said it again and again until it echoed inside the small, tiled space.

Why was he reacting to the omission of her true identity so viscerally? He poured shampoo into his hands and attacked his hair, his nails raking hard against his scalp as if to scrub the memory of how good it had felt to have hers there. Was it pride? A part of it, yes. She’d played him for the love-struck dupe that he’d been. Just as Elizabeth had.

Elizabeth Chynoweth had approached him at a charity car auction, where she was the event planner. She’d been acquainted with Francis since their days at Eton and Windsor Girls’ School. She’d jumped at the opportunity of coordinating an event of such distinction and had been pleased with how well it had done. One thing, in particular, had drawn her attention: the confident expertise of the man responsible for the collection of beautiful vehicles assembled for the show. He’d been flattered, of course. She was beautiful in a regal sort of way, honey blonde hair expertly coiffed, her figure tastefully -- yet cleverly -- gowned, revealing just enough to be alluring. He’d been shocked when she’d asked him for a drink after the auction closed, even moreso when that drink had became two, then three. Then the key card to her hotel room had somehow found its way to his hand and he’d spent the next two days in bed, in her.

It had been a whirlwind, his relationship with this patrician, blue-blooded woman who’d said she’d admired his work ethic as much as she had his cock. Not that he’d complained, of course; she’d done things to him he’d never thought of before. His friend Mark Daniel had had his doubts about Elizabeth from the beginning, calling him ‘King of the Pussywhipped’ when Ross confided his plans to propose only six months after they’d met. “Mind my words, Ross,” Mark had said, once he’d picked himself up off the service floor of Poldark Motors, rubbing his chin. “She’s only after you for a bit of working-class tail, or worse, she thinks you’re some kind of golden goose.”

Mark’s comment had rankled, had settled into a corner of his mind, nearly forgotten and brought back into vivid technicolour after the breakup.

Shortly before the charity car auction, a debilitating stroke had forced Charles Poldark to step aside from the leadership of the company. Francis had taken on his new role with great fanfare, but soon began to fritter away his responsibilities in favour of partying and whoring his way around London. The first quarter numbers had fallen to the point where his uncle had made the decision to bring Francis back to the Truro franchise, where Charles could keep closer watch over his wayward son and remove the temptations that distracted his heir. Ross had been the obvious choice to assume the reins. Elizabeth had been jubilant.

A fortnight before their engagement party, he’d informed her of his intention to start a side business restoring classic cars. Elizabeth had stared at him blankly for a moment, her cheeks growing pale with his news. “But what of the offer your uncle made to you?”

“Well, darling, I’m happy where I am.” He’d brushed a kiss across her lips. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered that he would think me capable,” he’d continued, “but I’ve not got the fancy degrees or the qualifications to lead a company of that size and scale. Something smaller, yes, like this classic car idea of mine.”

The memory of their engagement party rose unbidden in his mind.  _ Music was blaring and the guests milled about in the backyard of his townhouse. “The coals are ready!” he shouted above the din. “Be back in two minutes to get the burgers on the grill!” He bounded up the stairs from the patio into the kitchen where two-dozen, ridiculously expensive Kobe beef burgers sat covered on a platter on the counter. _

_ He heard her giggle just before he picked up the platter. He frowned, because she’d said she wanted to lie down to rid herself of a niggling headache that had been plaguing her all morning. He left the kitchen, moving quietly down the hall to their bedroom, when he heard them through the partially open door: the breathy sounds of arousal, the slap of flesh against flesh… _

_ His vision narrowed at the tableau displayed before him: his cousin Francis, head thrown back, trousers around his ankles, and balls-deep in the Brazilian-waxed heat of Ross’s fiancée, Elizabeth. _

_ He refused to speak with Francis after that day, not that he could speak. Verity told him the extent of the injuries he’d delivered to his cousin’s reed-slender frame and found he couldn’t have cared less. He  ignored Elizabeth’s texts begging his forgiveness until he’d told her, in no uncertain terms, what she could do with them.  _

 

__ From: Ross Poldark  
_ To: Elizabeth Chynoweth  
_ __ 03/05/2015 22:07

_ Go fuck yourself, you slag. Contact me again and I’ll say this to your face in the middle of your next society party. _  
  


_ It was radio silence from her after that. In that quiet, however, Ross had time to think. The day after he’d told her he’d turned down the London job, she’d begun to stay at her old flat, despite the fact they’d been living together for two months. As a matter of fact, they hadn’t made love since that night. God, what a fool he had been. _

_ A week later, he finally responded to his uncle’s final, threat, this time delivered in the form of a letter from the family solicitor: _

__ Trelawney, Bodrugan and Hulse  
__ 18 Falmouth Road  
_ Truro, Cornwall, TR1 2HX  
_ __ 01951 555321

_ 11 May, 2015 _

__ Ross Vennor Poldark  
__ ℅ The County Arms  
_ Highertown  
_ __ Truro, Cornwall, TR1 3PY, UK

_ Dear Mr Poldark _

_ Reference: 2 May 2015 Assault Upon Francis Poldark _

_ We have been retained by Charles Poldark to pursue charges against you for Assault Causing Grievous Bodily Harm (GBH), a criminal offence under Sections 18 and 20 of the Offences Against the Person Act. He has permitted one, final attempt to resolve this matter privately before requesting the charge move forward to the Crown Prosecution Service for filing. _

_ Please report to the Trenwith estate by half past six o’clock, the 12th of May, 2016 to discuss this situation. _

__ Yours sincerely,  
_ Julius Trelawney  
_ __ Solicitor

 

_ He walked into the ancient, Elizabethan manor house that had been in the family for generations at the appointed date and time. Its dark stained walls were covered with portraits dating back to the 16th century. Family heirloom furnishings surrounded him as he stalked towards the drawing room.   _

_ Uncle Charles sat in a wheelchair, his nurse hovering by his side. “Glad to see you’ve come to your senses, boy,” his uncle said, his voice slurred from the stroke. “Unfortunate it’s come to hiring solicitors to gain your attention, however, because of my so-called precarious health, no one will tell me what caused you to nearly kill your cousin.” _

_ Ross arched a brow at Francis and Elizabeth. “Did it not occur to you to ask why my fiancee is standing near your son instead of me?” He gestured to where she stood behind Francis, who was seated in an overstuffed chair, the bruises from the fight a sickly yellow-green on his pale face. “I caught them, in my bedroom, in flagrante delicto, at my engagement party. More specifically, making the beast with two back loud enough to be heard down the fucking hallway.”   _

_ "Ross,” Elizabeth said, flicking her eyes away from him in a show of false modesty. Her hand squeezed his cousin’s shoulder as Ross approached them, a glittery, ostentatious engagement ring replacing the modest one he’d presented her less than a month before. _

_ “Save the pretense, Elizabeth. I’ve sorted it all out, you see,” he’d said. “She decided to trade up to the Poldark with the pounds, Charles. Couldn’t bear to be tied down to a mechanic.” He nodded at the gaudy bobble adorning her finger. “Payment for services rendered.” Elizabeth made an attempt to slap Ross, but he caught her arm mid-swing. “The truth hurts.” _

_ Francis, his jaw wired shut, hissed invectives, which Ross ignored. He turned to Charles, who sat slackjawed with shock. “Should you decide to pursue these charges, Charles, I shall be forced to explain, in very specific detail, the actions preceding the incident. Very. Specific. Now, given the miserable state of affairs your son has left the London dealership in, I wouldn’t think a scandal of this magnitude would do the company any favours.” _

_ “It’s your company, too, boy!” Charles garbled, furious. _

_ "Oh, no. Not any more.” Ross said, tossing his card key into Francis’s lap. “I’m finished with the lot of you. Mail my final cheque to Nampara and never, never attempt to contact me again.”  _

With that, he’d walked out of the door, all bridges between he and the Trenwith Poldarks burned to ash.

  
His eyes stung, from the shampoo or tears, he wasn’t certain. He rinsed himself before turning off the water, having grown as cold as he’d remembered the world being after he’d stumbled from his house, bleeding from the injuries he’d sustained in the subsequent brawl, satisfied in thrashing his cuckolding bastard of a cousin. This time, there was no one to thrash but himself. Demelza Carnes’ betrayal was no where near as scandalous as Elizabeth’s, but every bit as painful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a very long time since I've written a character in such a rage, but once I got started... many, many thanks to Rainpuddle13 who literally saved this from being a quick temper tantrum followed by sex in front of the fireplace. This story needs to have conflict to progress to the heights I want it to go, so I hope you'll bear with me.
> 
> Since this chapter spewed forth from me a mere two days after I published the last, you can trust that it will be updated very shortly. I'm as anxious to get these two kids together as you are! 
> 
> Thanks so much to all of you who have left kudos and comments so far! They really inspire me!


	5. Tickover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> Until now. And now that he does, what will he do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tickover = idle
> 
> More swearing. But you've come to expect that by now, right? :-)

Verity rolled out the second batch of pastry dough she’d made for her mini strawberry rhubarb pies. She’d had a craving for the taste of the tart fruit since she’d woken up that morning. This year’s crop had gone a little berserk with the unusually sunny spring they’d had, so she’d spent a good portion of her morning prepping bags of the stuff to put in the freezer. It was a serendipitous craving, too, as she’d had to pull several bags of last year’s strawberries from the pernickety old thing to make room for her new bounty. The second batch of single-serving pies were in the oven, filling the cottage’s kitchen with their mouth-watering scent while the first rested on the window sill to cool. She hoped the fragrance of the cooling pies might make their way across the yard to lure the bear from his proverbial cave so they could have a chat. So far, no such luck.

Ross had been holed up over in his bachelor pad since Demelza Carne’s sudden departure the night before. Verity paused, flummoxed and terribly concerned about the whole thing. The woman she’d met the other day was  _ actually _ named Demelza Carne,  _ not _ Jinny Carter, as they’d been introduced?

She'd felt a chill race down her spine when she’d seen her cousin’s face morph from that of a smiling, besotted man to one carved from stone as Ruth Treneglos chattered on and on about her fortunate reunion with Ms Carne. Verity had also noticed the way the truly insufferable woman all but flung herself at Ross, within spitting distance of her own husband, for pity’s sake!

Verity had gone straight to her computer as soon as she’d hustled the Trenegloses off the property to see what she could find out about Demelza Carne. What she’d uncovered made her stomach fall to her feet.

> **Wheals of Change at Carnemore**
> 
> Thomas Carne, 59, President and Chief Executive Officer for the Carnemore Minerals Company, announced plans for his retirement, effective 1 January 2017. Carne formally named his daughter, Demelza, 28, and current VIce President of Mineral Science, as his successor. The elder Carne will remain as chairman of the board following a three-month holiday to the family vacation home outside Auckland, New Zealand.
> 
> Ms Carne returned to Truro Monday 9 May after spending a year at the company’s South African platinum mines, where she completed her doctoral dissertation in mining engineering at the University of Pretoria in April. She is the eldest of seven children born to Tom and his late wife, also named Demelza. When she assumes the helm of the company in seven months, she will be the one of the youngest chief executives in Great Britain, and the first of an corporation worth in excess of £20 billion.

“Twenty billion pounds?” she’d whispered, feeling the room spin sickly around her. The article’s candid photo showed an unsmiling young woman, clearly captured by paparazzi. Despite the dark aviator glasses her identity was clear and confirmed what Verity now knew to be true. The woman who’d caused her cousin’s eyes to sparkle with renewed joy and hope was Demelza Carne, not Jinny Carter as she’d claimed to be. Suddenly, she heard a truck door slam, raising her head to see Demelza’s truck careen out of the yard. Verity slammed her laptop closed, ran out of the cottage and pounded on the office door. “Ross! Ross, open up, sweetheart! Please!” She tried the knob with no success. “Darling, please!” Just then, she heard the sound of his footsteps pounding up the stairs to his loft and knew he was beyond her reach for the night. She wandered back to the cottage, heartsick with dread, for she’d known how he would react. She’d lived through it with him only a year before.

The texts and calls she’d received immediately following the broken engagement would have been hilarious if she hadn’t known he’d been ripped in two by the betrayal.

__ From: Verity  
__ To: Ross  
__ 02/05/2015 19:32  
_ 999  
_ __ OMG, where are you? Contact me now.

__ From: Verity  
__ To: Ross  
_ 02/05/2015 19:33  
_ __ They just called the ambulance for Francis. I think you broke his jaw!

__ From: Verity  
__ To: Ross  
_ 02/05/2015 19:34  
_ __ ROSS! WHAT HAPPENED?!

__ From: Ross  
__ To: Verity  
_ 02/05/2015 19:35  
_ __ Staying at hotel. Ask Elizabeth. She had a ringside seat.

__ From: Verity  
__ To: Ross  
_ 02/05/2015 19:37  
_ __ She’s run out of the house. Are you coming back?

__ From: Ross  
__ To: Verity  
_ 02/05/2015 19:39  
_ __ You could set a match to the place for all I care, but not before I recoup some capital from this nightmare. Know the name of a good real estate agent?

__ From: Verity  
__ To: Ross  
_ 02/05/2015 19:39  
_ __ You’re asking me about a real estate agent at a time like this? Dammit, Ross, WTF?

__ From: Ross  
__ To: Verity  
_ 02/05/2015 19:40  
_ __ Tell everyone the engagement is off and send them away.

__ From: Verity  
__ To: Ross  
_ 02/05/2015 19:40  
_ __ The engagement is off?

__ From: Ross  
__ To: Verity  
_ 02/05/2015 19:41  
_ __ Yes. Seeing your brother fucking her has fairly cocked it up. Double pun intended.

__ From: Verity  
__ To: Ross  
_ 02/05/2015 19:45  
_ __ Good lord. I’m on my way.

__ _ From: Ross  
_ __ To: Verity  
_ 02/05/2015 19:46  
_ __ You don’t even know where I’m staying.

__ From: Verity  
__ To: Ross  
_ 02/05/2015 19:52  
_ __ Of course I do. County Arms.

__ From: Ross  
__ To: Verity  
_ 02/05/2015 19:52  
_ __ What are you, some kind of witch?

__ From: Verity  
__ To: Ross  
_ 02/05/2015 19:52  
_ __ First, you’re a creature of habit and I know how you love their pub fare. Second, I can see your car in the car park. The next time you want to go incognito I suggest you leave the fire-engine red Pontiac GTO in the garage.

__ From: Ross  
__ To: Verity  
_ 02/05/2015 19:57  
_ __ Definitely a good witch. Room 327. TY, love.

As soon as she arrived, she’d taken one look at his bruised and battered face and burst into tears. He’d refused all efforts to take him to the A&E, stating he’d consumed nearly a half a bottle of Glendalough’s and was steadily moving down from an eight to a six on [Hyperbole and a Half’s alternative pain scale](http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/02/boyfriend-doesnt-have-ebola-probably.html).

 

_ _

_ 8: I am experiencing a disturbing amount of pain.  I might actually be dying.  Please help.  _

 

_ _

_ 6: Ow.  Okay, my pain is super legit now. _

 

It was the first time she’d laughed since discovering Francis in a bleeding, sobbing pile of humanity in the living room. She had insisted Ross’s friend, Dwight Enys, a doctor who’d been in town for the party, to stay with him before she went to The Royal Cornwall Hospital in Treliske to check on Francis. Finally, she’d returned to the family home at Trenwith, where her father’s doctor, a crotchety, arrogant man by the name of Choake, had informed her he’d given her uncle a sedative and she was not, under any circumstances, to tell him any more information about what had happened.

It was only when Francis was released from hospital and returned home with Elizabeth by his side, a massive diamond on her finger, that Verity had gone up to Nampara to draw the beast from its lair.

_ It had been years since she’d been to the farm and it broke her heart to see it in such a dilapidated state. “Ross! I know you are here!” she shouted, slapping the palm of her hand against the rickety door. “Again, the GTO is a dead give away. Open the door!” _

_ “Piss off,” he barked. _

_ His voice was slurred from drink and she wondered how much he’d poured down his system. Knowing him, a substantial quantity. “I will not ‘piss off’ until I’ve had a chance to see that you are healing.” She was met with nothing but silence and set her jaw. “If you don’t, I’m calling Dwight.” _

_ “Go right ahead,” he countered with a dry laugh. “Will have a hard time getting here from Edinburgh, though. Medical conference.” _

_ Damn. She rolled up her sleeves and crossed her arms. “Then I’ll call Choake.” _

_ Several beats of silence went by. “Very low blow, cousin,” he grumbled. She heard him stumble against something, the shatter of crockery before he slid the latch. _

_ The stench was the first thing to make her eyes water as he opened the door. Stale liquor, cheap cigars and unwashed male. The second were the bloodshot, devastated eyes that met hers. “Oh, Ross.” _

She’d held him, neither of them speaking for almost a quarter of an hour. By then, the front of Verity’s shirt was damp from the tears they’d both shed. Once done, he hadn’t been able to stop talking, asking her questions that were impossible for her to answer, because she was by no means objective when it came to Ross. In the end, she’d managed to get the stove working well enough to heat some water for him to wash and to heat the container of chicken soup she’d brought for him. When she was satisfied that he’d not starve or drink himself to oblivion (for she removed all but one bottle of porter from the house) she’d gathered his rank clothing, tucked him into his makeshift pallet on the floor and returned to Trenwith, her decision made.

_ “What do you mean you’re leaving?” Elizabeth babbled. _

_ “Keep your voice down,” Verity hissed, glancing nervously in the direction of her father’s bedchamber across the hall. _

_ Elizabeth gestured towards Francis, who lay in his bed, blinking up at Verity with pupils the size of pinpricks. “I mean, we’ve not made any arrangements for any help for your brother’s care--” _

_ “--Because you simply assumed I’d be here to do it for you, isn’t that right?” Elizabeth had the grace to redden under Verity’s candour. “Considering the fact that you are at the centre of this entire clusterfuck, Elizabeth, cleaning up this side of the aftermath ought to be  _ your _ responsibility.” _

_ Elizabeth plopped down onto the bench in front of Francis’s bed. “How dare you?” _

_ Verity snorted. “Of all the nerve,” she said incredulously. “You have the gall to use that tone with me after your reprehensible behaviour? Tell me, Elizabeth, do you make a habit of shagging all of the members of the families you ingratiate yourself upon? You might want to have a care around my father, unless it’s your goal to speed up Francis’s access to the money.” She smiled, rather pleased with herself. She’d never been able to come up with the perfect response to an insult before. _

_ “You fucking bitch,” Elizabeth rasped, angry colour turning her ordinarily flawless complexion blotchy. _

_ “Is that the best you’ve got?” Verity rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She turned to Francis. “I’m going to Nampara and have no plans to return.” _

_ Her brother slowly nodded. Verity wondered if he’d finally begun to comprehend the scale of his colossal fuck-up yet or if it were only the painkillers that flattened his affect. “When are you leaving?” Francis asked carefully, touching his fingers against his wired jaw. _

_ “Within the hour, if I can manage it,” she said. “I’ll take only what I need for the time being and make arrangements for the remainder of my belongings to be packed up.” Verity glanced at the tall, thin woman staring daggers in her direction. “I’ll leave it to the two of you to figure out what excuse to give to Father when he asks where I’ve gone.” _

And she’d never looked back.  _ Now here it was, happening all over again _ , she thought to herself.  _ And I’ll be damned if we have to start back at square one.  _ She returned her attention to the dough and got to work. Twenty minutes later, she marched across the yard and pounded on the door. Let battle commence.

~*~*~*~*~

Ross grit his teeth against the pounding at his temples. He groaned, turning his head into one the decorative pillows Verity had insisted he add to the couch when he’d bought it, and mentally assessing his current state. He realized he was lying face down on the couch downstairs in front of the fireplace, all but naked save his boxer briefs.  _ Jesus, how much did he drink last night?  _ he wondered to himself. He shifted his head to the side, cautiously opened his eyes and got his answer. Several empty bottles of porter lay scattered across the steel and glass coffee table, the contents of one having destroyed his latest copy of Car and Driver magazine before dribbling onto the floor. The new bottle of Glendalough’s he’d purchased two days ago appeared to have little less than three fingers left in it. He was going to pay for this, and pay for it  _ hard _ .

He slid his hands under his chest, pushing his upper torso off the couch, wincing as his skin stuck to the leather. Slowly, cautiously, he wobbled to into a sitting position and scrubbed his face with his hands. He frowned then, lifting his right foot to check the stinging, lingering pain in the arch and discovered he’d cut it.  _ But on what?  _ he wondered. The fire still smouldered from the last logs he vaguely remembered tossing into it around four when he’d stumbled outside to take a piss. “Oh,” he croaked. He’d stepped on several sharp pieces of gravel that covered the front step of the office entrance, his string of curses coming to a halt when he’d remembered the reason for it being there.

The ache returned as the memory of her lips rose within him. What a fucking travesty he was. Always aiming too high, too far. The only comfort this time around was he hadn’t had time to fall head over heals in love with her.  _ Or had he, _ a voice whispered in the back of his mind. Of course he hadn’t. He was a grown man, in his early thirties, been around the block a time or three. She’d been just a spark, is all, right? The spark to assure him he wasn’t dead inside.

_ Say her name, _ the voice of doubt jeered.  _ Or can you?  _ “Demelza,” he rasped once, attempting to put enough of a sneer on it to satisfy him.  _ Demelza,  _ he whispered to himself, struggling to resist the pleasure the vowels and consonants teased along his tongue. Instead, images of sparkling eyes the colour of the Cornish sea laughed up at him, long, curling strands of ginger hair blowing in the breeze along her jaw beckoned him. The weight of her settling on top of him, pressing him…

He groaned, rock hard and aching within seconds.  _ There must be an explanation for it, _ that whisper of reason coaxed. He shoved it aside, got to his feet and limped over to the Keurig, wishing he’d had a cup of Verity’s strong brew instead. He wasn’t ready for that, for the ninth degree he’d get if he went anywhere near Verity, and wondered if he ever would be. Surely she’d seen and heard what had happened yesterday. By now, she would have got on her computer and researched the crap out of whole thing. Visions of manila folders with post-it flags danced through his bruised brain. No. He most assuredly wasn’t ready for that.

Seconds later, a fist hammered against the door. “Ross!” Verity bellowed. “Ross, open up, dammit.”

He sighed, a dry chuckle leaving his throat. It was like deja vu all over again. “Go away.”

“I will not,” she declared. “And I brought strawberry rhubarb pasties.”

Evil, evil woman. “And coffee?” He peered through the slats of the blinds to see her waggle a French press in front of him. Sainted, angelic woman. He opened the door and would have been amused by the horror-stricken look on her face if he didn’t feel so awful. “What is it?”

“You…” she breathed, “you look dreadful.” She skittered past him and walked into the office. “Good lord. Is that glass in your fireplace? And what...blood on the floor?” She spun, slapping the platter of pastries and the French press down onto the counter before propping her hands on her hips. “What in the hell did you do in here?”

“Had a massive, alcohol-fuelled sulk?” He closed the door. “What does it look like?” Speaking of which, he padded over to the loo and turned on the light -- almost weeping from the light's intensity -- to see what  _ he _ looked like. The sight that met him in the mirror was shocking. He was pale, his hair matted up along the left side of his head -- the result of falling asleep on it whilst still wet. The rest sprang wildly about his head and neck, partially covering his extremely bloodshot right eye. He had an angry, red indentation from a chunky, wooden button in the centre of his forehead -- a gift from the decorative pillow -- and the vestiges of a hard on. _Get it together, asshole._ “You’re right. I’m a wreck.”

“Here.” She thrust a mug of coffee into his hands and hauled him over to the bar stool to check his foot. “Are you sure you didn’t get any glass in it?”

“Er, no--OW!” he bellowed, jerking his foot from her grasp. “I mean, no, there’s no glass in it.” Verity didn’t need to know he’d taken a piss out into the yard like a vagrant.

“Well, you drink your coffee and have a look over this while I get the first aid kit from the garage,” she mumbled. She handed him some papers she’d had in her back pocket before going through to the main structure.

He glared at them, as if the papers were a snake, coiled-up and ready to strike. At length, he unfolded them, only to toss them back onto the counter in anger. He did  _ not _ want to read about Demelza Carne just as the first, succulent jolt of caffeine was hitting his system.  _ No, he was not interested, _ as he bit into the pasty, the still-warm filling sparking his salivary glands to life.  _ She could just sod off,  _ he thought to himself as he caught a glimpse of her photo out of the corner of his eye. Verity returned just as he’d started the third pasty and had begun to read. Not only did she have a master’s but also she had a  _ doctorate _ in mineral studies. She was a bloody doctor, for crying out loud! He studied the photo that accompanied the article. Demelza Carne looked very annoyed in it, that was sure. Delectable and annoyed. He cursed his hormones and looked at Verity over the top of the sheath of papers. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you, and I don’t want to see you do this to yourself,” she said calmly, taking a comb from her pocket and gently attacking his hair. “I believe I’ve used my time a bit more constructively than you.”

“Is that right,” he quipped, reaching for a packet of paracetamol tabs and wincing when she hit a particularly nasty snarl. “Could you stop that and get me some water, please?”

She chuckled, setting the comb down and walking around the bar to get a bottle of water from the fridge. She slid it across the bar. “I know the news must have been a shock for you.”

He snorted water up his nose and spent the next three minutes coughing hard enough to split his head open with pain. “ _ That _ is a tepid word for what it felt like, Verity, and you know it.”

She stroked circles around his back. “You don’t have to convince me of that, Ross. I was there with you, remember?”

He nodded. “You were, and I thank God for you.” He kissed her on the cheek. “But, Jesus, why did it have to be  _ this _ ?” He waved the papers in the air between them. “I think I could have handled anything else. A husband. A boyfriend. Hell, a  _ girlfriend _ , for fuck’s sake. But this?”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think she was or is as selfish and egotistical as Elizabeth is,” Verity said, nibbling on a pasty and nodding at the papers. “At least from what I was able to find out. She didn’t lie about her accomplishments or credentials.” She plucked the papers from his fingers, refolding and tucking them into her pocket. “I’m willing to bet there’s something more there to be discovered.”

“Well,” he grumped, popping the last of the pasty into his mouth, “you just knock yourself out, Miss Marple.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” she chirped.

He swallowed and gave Verity a hug. “Thanks for the breakfast, cousin, but I’ve got some work that needs doing after I get this place -- and my head -- straightened out.”

~*~*~*~*~

Verity set the empty platter and French press down on the kitchen counter, walked over to her laptop and tapped a few keys into her browser. She squinted, scrabbled for her mobile and dialled the number of the screen.

“Carnemore Minerals, Amanda speaking,” the cheerful voice on the other end of the line said. “How may I direct your call?”

“May I speak with Demelza Carne, your vice president of mineral science, please,” Verity said, her heart pounding in her chest.

“May I say who is calling?” the receptionist asked, professional wariness infusing her tone.

Well,  _ someone _ had to tell the truth around here, she thought to herself. “Verity Poldark.”

“One moment, please.” Relaxing jazz music filled her ear, a very nice change from the jangly pop or -- worse yet -- tepid remakes of classic songs, dulled down enough to put a person into a coma that ordinarily served as hold music. Verity walked over and pulled the last tray of pies from the oven and had set them down when the receptionist came back onto the line. “I’ll put you through to her office.”

“Thank you very much,” Verity said, setting the mobile down and turning it onto speaker. She was dusting the pies with caster sugar when someone picked up the line.

“Demelza Carne’s office, Andrew speaking.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you who have supported this fic and have shared it with your friends -- the comments have been a joy to read and it's great to be getting to know some new faces, too! I am overwhelmed with gratitude. :-) Massive thanks to Rainpuddle and Sparks for their help with the beta and Brit-picking.
> 
> We'll check in on Demelza in the next chapter.
> 
> BTWs, for those of you who want to see the rest of the pain scale, you CAN go to the site linked in the chapter, but there's something weird going on with the background right at the moment. Here it is... the entire story is hysterical, as is everything else the author, Allie Brosh, has posted there. Trust me, you will never look at the tepid little pain scale your doctor has in their office the same way again.
> 
> 0: Hi. I am not experiencing any pain at all. I don't know why I'm even here. 
> 
> 1: I am completely unsure whether I am experiencing pain or itching or maybe I just have a bad taste in my mouth.
> 
> 2: I probably just need a Band Aid.
> 
> 3: This is distressing. I don't want this to be happening to me at all.
> 
> 4: My pain is not fucking around.
> 
> 5: Why is this happening to me??
> 
> 6: Ow. Okay, my pain is super legit now.
> 
> 7: I see Jesus coming for me and I'm scared. 
> 
> 8: I am experiencing a disturbing amount of pain. I might actually be dying. Please help.
> 
> 9: I am almost definitely dying.
> 
> 10: I am actively being mauled by a bear.
> 
> 11: Blood is going to explode out of my face at any moment.
> 
> Too Serious For Numbers: You probably have ebola. It appears that you may also be suffering from Stigmata and/or pinkeye.


	6. Torch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> It's been a week since the truth was revealed. It's time to shine some more light on the subject.
> 
> A Modern Romelza AU.

One of the things Andrew Blamey remembered from his first meeting with Demelza Carne was her insistence on work-life balance. At first, he’d wondered if she’d mentioned that because she knew he was a single father with two children under five, but he later learned it was something she’d told all of the people she’d worked with along the way. It was something she lived up to as well, never sending emails or requests to him after hours and respecting his need to be flexible during these first few weeks settling into a new home and country.

He’d known something was wrong had happened the moment he’d received a text from her shortly after eleven o’clock at night.

_He’d just turned out the light by his bed when his phone vibrated against the oak top of his nightstand. He fumbled for his glasses, slipped them on and peered at the screen:_

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Andrew Blamey  
17/05/2017 23:07  
  
999\. Didn’t want to ring for fear of waking the children. Please call me ASAP.

 

_He didn’t hesitate and found her number in his contacts. She answered on the first ring. “Andrew?”_

_Her voice sounded tremulous, as if she’d been crying. He sat bolt upright in bed. “Mis--Demelza?” he asked, already reaching for his robe. “What’s happened?”_

_“I’m so sorry for bothering you at home.”_

_Her voice caught on the last word. “No worries, mate.” He wasn’t surprised to hear the familiar phrase slip free from his mouth. “How can I help?”_

_“It’s personal,” she sighed, “but I-I need to get away from here.” She took a deep breath, managing to sound a bit more composed than before. “I know I’m heading to Denver next Monday. Can you book me on tomorrow’s flight to the States?”_

_“Absolutely,” he confirmed, bracing the phone against his cheek with his shoulder while he opened his tablet and navigated to the company travel site. He set the phone down and put it on speaker. “There….is….” he murmured. “I can get you on American to Denver through Detroit at half past nine o’clock. You would arrive a little after five o’clock local time.”_

_“Good, that’s good,” she murmured absently._

_“I’ll contact Patrick to have him fly you over from Newquay,” Andrew confirmed, his fingers flying over the keypad. “Returning when?”_

_“Depart Wednesday early afternoon, local time as planned,” she confirmed._

_They were quiet for several moments until he completed the reservation. “Your new itinerary just went through to your email,” he stated. Her composure evaporated with another sob. “Demelza, please, what’s wrong?” he asked, worry turning his stomach queasy._

_“It’s nothing, Andrew, truly,” she said hastily. “I’ll be ready to leave for the airport in twenty minutes.”_

_“I’ll have a car waiting,” he replied. He set down the tablet, picking up the phone and turning it off speaker. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”_

_There was a lengthy pause on the line, making him think she’d hung up before she spoke. “Please text me if anyone with the last name of Poldark should call.” Then, he heard her sigh wearily. “Thank you for everything, Andrew. Goodbye.”_

The following morning, Andrew dropped his children off at their preschool and reached the office just as their main receptionist, Amanda Kirkpatrick, was settling in at the sleek granite circular desk she liked to call the command centre. Amanda was in her early twenties, single and still couldn’t manage not to titter and blush any time Andrew spoke to her. “You sound just like that Dean O’Gorman from _The Hobbit_!” she’d always quip. He’d tried to explain that there was a difference between New Zealand and Australia, but had given up after the tenth time.

“Good morning, Amanda,” he smiled, depositing a peppermint mocha frappuccino -- her favourite -- next to her mouse.  How she could drink something like that first thing in the morning was beyond him. It made his fillings hurt just looking at it.

 _Giggle_. “G’day, Andrew.” She picked up the drink and took a long sip. He clenched his teeth. “So, I imagine this little treat comes with some strings attached, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does,” he responded. “Ms Carne has headed to America a few days early, so I’ve got some calendar rearranging to do this morning. Can you screen her calls until lunch time?”

“Of course!” she chirped. “Will send them directly to your voicemail.”

“There’s one thing: can you send any calls coming from anyone with the last name of Poldark to my second line?” He tried to keep his tone matter-of-fact in the hopes of heading off any potential for gossip. Hell, _he_ didn’t know what was going on. The last thing he knew Demelza needed was a bunch of speculation. No such luck; the light of intrigue sparkled in the young receptionist’s eyes. “She’s expecting a call about a business plan.” One little white lie couldn’t hurt.

Crisis averted. “Absolutely, Andrew.” She jotted down his instructions. “I’ll pass this along to Ben when he comes to cover the desk at break.”

“Thank you, Amanda,” Andrew said, and meant it sincerely.

“Anytime!” She giggled again, waggling her half empty drink cup at him as he turned to leave. _Good god, girl, I’m old enough to be your father. Barely. But enough_ , he grumbled to himself as he headed straight for the elevators.

Spotify filling the office with the sounds of Chuck Mangione, he’d settled in with a cup of Darjeeling to begin the arduous task of rearranging a week’s worth of calendar appointments when the phone rang. He pressed the button on his headset and smiled. It always came through to the person on the other end of the line. “Demelza Carne’s office, Andrew speaking.”

“Good morning.” The voice was soft, musical and made him sit up in his seat straightaway. “My name is Verity Poldark. May I ask to whom I am speaking?”

“Yes, o-of course,” he stammered, frowning over the brief stutter. “My name is Andrew Blamey, Demelza Carne’s executive assistant. Is there something I can do for you, Ms Poldark?”

“I would like to speak with Ms Carne, if it is a convenient time to do so,” she said, with business-like efficiency.

“Unfortunately, Ms Carne is out of the country,” he responded.

“Oh.” That brief exhalation of disappointment on the other line had stirred up the concern he’d managed to shut behind closed doors in the wee hours of the morning. _What on earth was going on?_  “I’m sorry to hear that. Will she be out of the country for an extended period of time?”

The apprehension she held in her voice was compelling. “She will be back in the office a week from today,” Andrew confirmed softly. “May I ask what this is in regards to, Ms Poldark?”

There was a lengthy pause. “No, I’m sorry, it’s a personal matter, but one of great importance to me and, I suspect, to her as well.”

“Can I help you with anything?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He could blame his natural inclinations towards caregiving, one of the things that made him exceptional at his profession. However, he suspected some of it had to do with the sadness he heard in her voice.

“No.” He could practically hear her blush over the phone. “Oh no, that’s very kind of you, Mr Blamey--”

“--Please, call me Andrew.” He picked up a pen. “Why don’t you give me your contact information and I’ll let Ms Carne know you called.” He paused. “I can tell you she specifically asked me to inform her if anyone whose last name was Poldark called for her.”

“Truly?” If he thought he could hear her blush over the phone, the spring-like blossom of relief that filled those two syllables was almost intoxicating. “Oh, Mr Blamey--”

“--Andrew,” he corrected.

“Yes, Andrew.” She gave him her mobile and email address. “You cannot know what that means to me. And please, call me Verity.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Demelza settled back against the seat of the town car and blew out a sigh of exhaustion. The week in Denver had been productive, however she made a note to have Andrew schedule the board meetings towards the beginning of the site visits, rather than the end. That way, she could end her time doing the kind of work she loved: going down the mine, inspecting samples and running tests in the lab. Most of her corporate responsibilities were manageable and she figured she would grow to appreciate them with time. The board meetings had to be the most miserable part of her new role as the incoming President. Committee reports, profit and loss statements, and governance policy reviews. All jaw droppingly boring. The worst were the personnel issues at the highest level: executives behaving like toddlers over the size of their desks. She’d bitten her tongue before she’d said anything equating their complaints to penis size, but it was a near thing. As much as she was eager for her business in the States to be concluded, there was a part of her that wouldn’t have minded another delay in returning home.

 _Coward_ , she chided herself as she slipped her heels off and wiggled her toes. It’s only because by going home she’d be forced to do what she _should_ have done a week ago.

Despite spending three of her first days in Denver under the care and feeding of some of the best spa therapists money could buy (she must remember to thank Caroline for the recommendation to the Ritz Carlton spa), she still found herself at odds with what she’d done and how she’d behaved. One moment, she was horrified for attempting to deceive a man who’d done absolutely nothing to deserve it. The next, she was furious with herself for not standing up to Ross during his onslaught of disgusting insults and accusations. He’d treated her as if she were someone of low morals, someone used to toying around with other people’s thoughts and emotions. Worst of all, that she was the type of person who would consider him beneath her because of their difference in station. His words, to that effect, still rang in her ears, and in her heart: “ _That you thought it would be a nice bit of fun, slumming with one of the commoners? See how the other half lives?”_ “ _She’s a fucking heiress, out for a quick shag with the local mechanic.”_ If she hadn’t been so frozen, so upset she would have cheerfully kneed him in the balls.

 _Well_ , Demelza thought to herself, _maybe not in the balls. A slap across the face, most assuredly_.

She was in the _mining_ business, male dominated for centuries, for Christ’s sake! She’d learned how to stand up to even the most outrageous of insults and confrontations, employing her razor-sharp tongue to slash down even the most brusque, misogynistic idiot to stand in her way. She also knew how to defend herself -- having six brothers had helped with that. But _that_ was at work. When it came to her heart, she admitted she’d allowed her past experience with George to retain control over her future happiness. And after what he’d said, and what he’d done to her, giving him that power over her life four years after the fact was enough to make her want to castrate him.

That power and control, she vowed, would end, effective today. She knew she needed to face the music -- in a more rational and reasonable conversation -- for the deception and was now prepared to do so. Much of the confidence she’d built for the coming storm had begun to develop following the Skype call with Verity Poldark.

Demelza had received word that Verity had called as soon as she’d landed in Denver.

 _From: Andrew Blamey_  
_To: Demelza Carne_  
_18/05/2017 16:18_  
  
_Hope your flight was comfortable, Demelza. Letting you know Verity Poldark called for you a few moments ago. She wants to meet with you. Was especially relieved to hear you’d ask me to contact you if she called. Her contact information is[ verity@namparafarmtotable.com ](mailto:verity@namparafarmtotable.com) or mobile +44 5533 973456_

 

Demelza had spent the better part of the forty minute trip to the hotel mulling the message over. By the time she’d arrived, she’d decided she wouldn’t wait until she returned to Cornwall before contacting Verity. But the effects of jet lag had begun to take their toll and she knew she’d be better prepared for the conversation in the morning.

_She put together a quick text to Cornwall before turning off her phone for the night._

 

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Unknown (+44 5533 973456)  
18/05/2017 20:52  
  
Hello Verity, it’s Demelza. Thank you for calling. I imagine you have a myriad of questions for me, and I owe you and your cousin an explanation. I’m sorry I’m not in Cornwall to meet with you, but I would be happy to do so, either by phone or Skype? If not, we can talk when I return next week. Take care. D

 

 _The small part of her mind had hoped Verity would have preferred to wait until her return went up in smoke when she turned on her phone._ Coward _._

From: Unknown (+44 5533 973456)  
To: Demelza Carne  
19/05/2017 07:30  
  
Hi Demelza -- Verity here. Skype would be fine. You can reach me at namparaverity. Best time would be around half past ten my time tonight. Fewer chances of an interruption that way. I am eager to speak with you. Thank you. V

 

 _Demelza knew immediately that the ‘interruption’ Verity referred to was Ross. It_ had _to be. She began to wonder what he might be up to: out drinking with a mate, playing snooker and cursing the entirety of the female sex, perhaps? Brooding as he sat in front of his telly in his boxers, watching a rugby match?_ Mmmm, that sounded appealing. _Or was he seeing someone else? She stopped the frisson of jealousy that slinked up her spine. She had no right to feel anything of the sort, especially after the bullshit she’d pulled on him._

 _Still. She didn’t_ have _to like the thought of another woman sharing those steamy kisses and caresses with him, right? “Dammit, Demelza, stop acting like a child and answer the text,” she spat at her reflection in the window. She added Verity’s number to her contacts and got down to business._

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Verity Poldark  
18/05/2017 08:02  
  
Hello Verity, it’s Demelza. That time works well for me. My Skype username is CopperDC. Thank you so much. D

 

_Demelza spent the day under the loving, sadistic care of Johannes, the head masseuse at the spa, who lead her through one miraculous experience after the other. Demelza hadn’t been to a spa since the summer Demelza returned home after her first year in college. Caroline had declared the time had come for Demelza to do something about herself. “A whole year stuck in a library has done absolutely nothing for your complexion, my dear, and we won’t even begin to discuss the state of your brows.” She’d arched one of her own perfectly arched brows at Demelza. “Have you ever had a bikini wax?”_

_“What on earth for?” Demelza had asked, crossing her legs by instinct._

_Caroline had simply laughed and dragged her along to her aesthetician. Despite the initial discomfort -- and her inability to speak -- she’d been pleased with the results. Nothing as severe as Caroline’s regime -- a Brazilian had been completely out of the question -- but...tidy. And Demelza had to admit she looked fabulous in the new black bikini she’d purchased for their trip to the Italian Riviera._

_By the time Demelza finished her spa treatments, she had enough time to spend some time engaging in a little retail therapy -- a pretty set of bangles for Caroline and a birthday present for her brother Drake’s girlfriend, Morwenna -- before it was almost time to head back to the hotel for the call._

_Verity answered on the second ring. “Hello, Demelza,” she said crisply. It looked as if she were using a desktop computer for the call. Demelza could see firelight flickering off of a selection of beautiful copper saucepans and pots behind Verity’s head._

_“Good evening, Verity,” she answered, cursing her fair complexion, for she knew she must be the colour of a ripe tomato._

_She could see Verity’s eyes glancing around at the decor behind Demelza’s head. “Your hotel room looks gorgeous. Where are you staying?_

_“The Ritz Carlton in downtown Denver,” Demelza answered. “A family favourite whenever we’re here for business.”_

_“I see,” Verity responded. “How is America?”_

_“G-Good, very good, although the altitude here always presents a challenge for me the first few days. Hydration is key!” She swallowed a sip of water, wishing it were wine, but knowing she needed to keep her wits about herself. The corners of Verity’s mouth tipped up in a smile. “How are things in Cornwall?”_

_“Raining now, but we had a lovely sunset tonight.” Verity cocked her head and sighed. “I suppose some small talk is necessary.”_

_Demelza closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Verity. I’m rather terrified at the moment.”_

_Verity’s brows -- a feminine version of her cousin’s -- furrowed over her pretty brown eyes. “You’ve nothing to be frightened of with me, my dear.” Demelza felt tears prickle the back of her eyes. “It was clear to me there was some kind of misunderstanding that happened the other day, and I want to give you a chance to help me clear up the events in my mind.” Her expression turned serious. “But I will warn you. If I’m not satisfied, or I feel as if you’re not being entirely honest with me, you will have to go through me to come within two hundred meters of Ross. I’ve good reasons for safeguarding my younger cousin, and I’ll do whatever I need to in order to keep him from being hurt.”_

What on earth has happened to him for her to feel so protective? _she thought to herself._ And what demons had been stirred within him because of my stupidity? _A tear slipped free. “I understand, Verity,” Demelza agreed, dashing it away with an angry swipe of her hand. She’d had enough crying to last her the next year. “What do you want to know?”_

_Verity took a sip of tea and looked Demelza square in the eye. “First of all, why the charade?”_

_“Ouch. Right out of the gate.” Getting straight to the point. “Fair enough,” Demelza conceded. “Did Ross tell you how we met?” At Verity’s nod, Demelza continued. “I’d borrowed Jinny’s polo shirt and, when he read the name aloud, the rest of it just slipped out.”_

_“But why?” Verity frowned. “Couldn’t you have just corrected him?”_

_“That’s one of the things your cousin asked me the other evening,” Demelza muttered, “although he certainly didn’t give me an opportunity to explain it to him.” She was not able to keep the edge of annoyance out of her voice and winced when she heard the tone. “Sorry.”_

_“To tell you the truth, Demelza, that’s the first glimpse of temper I’ve seen from you.” She met Verity’s mischievous gaze. “I mean, I am happy that you are so apologetic for what happened, but if you’d failed to have a sturdy enough spine to deal with Ross’s stubbornness and temper, we’d be finished with the conversation.”_

_Demelza blinked. “Is that so?” she asked, somewhat incredulously._

_“Certainly,” Verity stated. “As much as I love him, my cousin has never been nor will he ever be the brightest of men when it comes to relationships. And he’ll do things that are impulsive and reckless, without thinking things through. Any woman who wishes to be involved with him will need to have strength to confront him. Call him out on his idiocy from time to time. If you were a timid wallflower, I’d have told you to run as far away from him as possible. For both of your sakes.”_

_“I appreciate your candor, Verity, I truly do.” Demelza was amazed by the feisty little brunette. “I can assure you, as soon as the initial shock was over and I was heading back to Truro, I had many, many things I wished to say to your cousin.”_

_“Of that, I have no doubt.” Verity chuckled before pausing to nibble on a delicious looking shortbread biscuit. “So, tell me why it happened at all.”_

_Demelza had thought about what she wished to say to the Poldarks since she’d fled Nampara, so she took a deep breath and began. “My second year in uni I started a relationship with a man named George Warleggan. Are you familiar with him?”_

" _I believe my brother Francis was friends with him at Eton, but I’ve never met him.”_

_“He was a few years older than me.” She paused. “I thought he was the one, you know? Suffice it to say he was using me to get to my father and his investment portfolio.”_

_“Oh, my dear,” Verity murmured, compassion in the tenderness of her voice. “I am so sorry.”_

_Demelza shrugged, suddenly feeling quite tired. “I’ve tried to date off and on since then. They always seemed to be so....dazzled by everything surrounding my life. Or, at least that’s how I interpreted it. Wrong or no, I was never able to trust them enough to seek out a second. Meeting R-Ross,” Demelza stammered, taking a shaky, cleansing breath and blowing it out. “It was the first time---”_

_“---that you’d felt something,” Verity finished. “A connection, right?” Demelza nodded. It was the only thing she trusted herself to do. “I believe I can tell you, without betraying any confidences, the scandal -- such as it was -- is a matter of public record, that Ross experienced a very similar situation a year ago this month.”_

_Demelza exhaled. It was a breath she hadn’t realized she’d held. “Oh, no.” Her mind flashed back to some of the things she’d heard him say before he’d ordered her from his home._ “....first ...I’ve felt….wanted to know better, since…” _She choked back a sob. “Oh, Verity, what have I done?”_

_“Nothing that can’t be remedied,” Verity confided. “I must ask you a question, and I hope that you’ll understand why.” She stopped, as if collecting her thoughts, before looking directly into her web camera. “The Trenwith Poldarks, the family I come from, is monied, as is yours, albeit at a much grander scale than ours.” Demelza had a sick feeling she knew where this was going, but said nothing. “Ross’s family, whom we’ve called the Nampara Poldarks, did not. Ross’s father ran wild after my Aunt Grace died. Drinking, gambling, womanizing. At the time of his death, Joshua had mortgaged the entirety of the property and left a massive pile of debts behind. Ross had to leave uni in order to try to salvage something from almost nothing.” She glanced away for a moment, brushing a tear from her cheek. “He’s worked very hard for what he has built, and has sunk his last penny into the garage. He’s very proud of what he does. So, I must know: does the difference in your stations matter to you?”_

_“You shouldn’t have to ask it, Verity, but I understand,” Demelza agreed. “I mean, one would have to be blind not to recognize your cousin’s physical appeal. He’s one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen. But it was more than that, so much more.” She pictured him, his face inches from hers, enraged and accusatory, yet all she’d wanted was to fist her hands in his hair and draw him to her, onto the couch, to tear at clothing, to taste his skin, to run her nails down his back until she sank them into the firm flesh of his buttocks as they mindlessly, endlessly shuddered, replete from their lovemaking._

_“Demelza?”_

_Verity’s voice made Demelza snap back to the present. “Oh, sweet God.”_

_Verity giggled. “Where did_ you _go just then?”_

_“You do not want to know.” Demelza was absolutely mortified. She pressed her forehead against the desk. “Please forgive me.”_

_“It’s perfectly alright, my dear,” Verity chortled, her voice rich with mirth. Demelza peeked up to see his cousin smiling. “I’ve been around him since he was born. He’s always had a charm about him. The slightly dangerous bad boy?”_

_“You could say that,” Demelza admitted. “Where he comes from and what he does for a living doesn’t matter to me. I want to get to know him better because he makes me laugh, and he...he’s stirred something within me I’d long thought was dead.” She toyed with the pad of paper in front of her. “I hope to have a chance to know him better, and for him to see me and who I am, beyond the name and all of that.” She stopped fidgeting. “Do you think he’d give me another chance?”_

_“He was very, very angry, and incredibly hurt the other night.” Demelza felt as though her heart were in her throat, choking her, but found it was her tears._ God, when will these tears end? _“You’ll need to meet with him, to tell him what you’ve told me,” Verity cautioned._

_“Yes, of course,” Demelza agreed. She swallowed before uttering the promise she’d made to herself before she started the call. “And if he decides he’s not interested in forgiving me, I’ll understand and walk away.”_

_Verity nodded. “I will do what I can to soften him up. Dry your tears, my dear. You’ve an ally in me.”_

Over the course of her week away, she’d found herself thinking of him often throughout her trip, even going so far as to find him on Facebook, stopping herself just before she’d sent him a friend request. She’d also found time to do a little research of her own. Verity had mentioned information about Ross’s split from Elizabeth had reached the papers. It only took her seconds to find what she was looking for.

  

 

 

> **Trouble at Poldark Motors  
>  ** Turmoil in the upper ranks of Poldark Motors was confirmed when Ross Poldark, chief of maintenance for the family’s luxury car empire, resigned suddenly under a cloud of mystery. Only two weeks ago, in a stunning move by family patriarch, Charles, Poldark had been tapped to become the new head the multimillion-dollar dealership, known for its high-end vehicles and outstanding customer service. Francis Poldark, son and heir-apparent to Charles, had held the top spot for the past year, following the stroke that forced Charles from day-to-day management.
> 
> The reasons for the sudden departure were unclear at time of print. Witnesses to the resignation reported seeing severe bruises on the former maintenance chief’s face. Poldark, when asked by reporters, offered no comment about his resignation, his injuries or his future endeavours.

Then, on the society and gossip pages, this:

 

 

 

> **1990’s Glam Gala  
>  ** All of the West Country’s finest attended a glitzy fundraising gala Saturday night for the Royal Cornwall Hospital, sponsored by Poldark Motors. “Over the last year, the Royal Cornwall has been very good to our family and we wish to give back,” Francis Poldark, head of the dealerships said. He had some difficulty speaking due to a broken jaw sustained in a recent riding accident. Absent from the event was Poldark’s sister, Verity, and his cousin, Ross, who recently left the company following an internal dispute.
> 
> One can surmise that “internal dispute” might have had something to do with Elizabeth Chenoweth. Francis Poldark confirmed his intent to marry Ms Chenoweth, originally from Bodwin, and owner of EC Events, the company responsible for coordinating the stunning affair. Chenoweth was engaged to Francis Poldark’s cousin, Ross, for several months before their breakup in May. “His loss is my gain,” Poldark quipped.

_What a nightmare_ , Demelza thought to herself. She was certain the details were much more horrible that what she’d been able to glean from her Google searches. She hoped he would confide in her someday, and tell her what truly happened. Not because of any need for salacious gossip, but to understand the depth of the hurt he’d sustained. All of which would never happen if he couldn’t forgive her.

“Miss Carne?”

She jumped, the voice of the driver drawing her from her thoughts. “Yes, Daniel?”

“We’ll be at the airport in about ten minutes.” He frowned at her in the rear-view mirror. “Are you alright, miss? You looked so far away.”

She nodded. “I was, but it’s time to get back there and tend to what needs doing.” She picked up her phone and typed up a text.

 

 _From: Demelza Carne_  
_To: Andrew Blamey_  
_24/05/2017 13:07_  
  
_Hi Andrew -- please clear my morning tomorrow. I’ll be up at Nampara. Thank you. D_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Rainpuddle and Sparks for their continuing support and friendship. Lots of interweb rabbit holes traveled for this chapter, including spas in Denver, flights from Truro to Denver, how to repair (and correctly spell consistently) a carburetor, newspapers in the west country...the hospice I mentioned does exist, and the stories they have to share on their webpage are an inspiration. Check it out: [Children's Hospice South West](https://www.chsw.org.uk/). More meanderings to come. Enjoy!


	7. Damper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> Thursday morning at Nampara Garage. The sun is shining, the dog is playing, and the mechanic is brooding. But not for long. 
> 
> A Modern Romelza AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's in the tags, but Ross has a potty mouth. In other words, he tends to swear a lot.

 

 

> _“I see a red door and I want it painted black...No colours anymore, I want them to turn black….I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes...I have to turn my head until my darkness goes…”_

Ross sang along with Mick and the boys as he inspected the disassembled carburettor neatly arranged on his workbench. It belonged to Paul Daniel, one of his best friends from childhood. More importantly, it belonged to “Shirley”, Paul’s 1968 Ford Mustang Fastback. It had developed what Ross lovingly called a “patina”, although most of the unwashed heathens of the world would consider it to be rust. It was one of his favourite cars to work on, one he would happily putter around on for free whenever it was required and one he not-so-secretly coveted.  Paul had brought the car up to the garage two days before, complaining about its performance. It had only taken Ross a moment to diagnose the problem.

_“Carburettor, Paul,” Ross confirmed, wiping his hands and setting his safety glasses aside._

_“I swear, this car is a money pit,” Paul groused. “I just had the brakes worked on---”_

_“--- By another mechanic, I might add,” Ross interrupted, pleased to see his friend wince. “May you be shamed forever for it.”_

_“I know, I know.” He frowned, giving the front tire a kick. “What’s the damage going to be this time?”_

_“A hell of a lot less than that brake job,” Ross said. “Let me take it apart and let you know. Now, if you need it right away, I’ll have to shuffle some of my other work around.”_

_“Paying customers, if I catch your meaning,” Paul quipped._

_Ross shrugged. “Hey! A man’s gotta eat, you know.” He peered at the engine once again. “If I had to guess, I can get it done for under a hundred quid, including parts, in about two hours.” He gave his beard a scratch. “Now, if you could leave it here for a couple of days I can work it into my schedule. I’ll even throw in a tune up for free.”_

_His friend glared at the car for a moment before giving Ross the side-eye._ Gotcha _. “I’d be an idiot to pass that up.”_

_“Well, you won’t hear that from me,” Ross chuckled. “Can I drop you somewhere?”_

_“Cheers, mate, but no,” Paul said, nodding towards his brother, Mark. He was finishing up an estate vehicle for the Bodrugans and cheerfully waved from the detail bay. “Me and Mark are going down to the parents to do some work on the hay field for the next couple of days. How about if he swings me back up here day after tomorrow?”_

_“Yeah, that will work.” Ross and Paul walked over to the office to put together the paperwork. He arched a brow._ Couldn’t help to ask. _“Are you sure I can’t take this thing off your hands?”_

 _“Nice try, Poldark,” Paul snorted. “She may be a money pit, but she’s_ my _money pit.”_

Paul would be back in the afternoon for the car, so he needed to finish it up. He’d swung into town to collect the necessary repair kit and carefully cleaned, washed and set the parts out to dry. He reached around to gather his hair into a rough topknot and settled down to towel off the remaining water.

 

 

> _“I look inside myself and see my heart is black...I see my red door and must have it painted black...maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts...it's not easy facing up when your whole world is black.”_

Ross frowned. “Enough of that, Mr Jagger,” he muttered under his breath. “Sometimes, you and your fellow troubadours hit a little too close to home.” He picked up his old iPod and spun the wheel to a little Madness.

It was true; his heart felt a bit painted black, and had done for the better part of a week. The white-hot fury he’d felt upon first learning of Demelza’s deception had burned itself out, settling into a healthy dose of bitterness with himself, at the ease by which he’d been duped, with a tiny dash of shame for leaping to the worst conclusions imaginable. He would like to say he was never the kind the man to leap into decisions that could result in life-changing consequences. Anyone who knew him would have laughed him out of the room. If anything, he was cursed with a particular recklessness that ran deep within the Poldarks, especially the Nampara branch of the family. He was determined not to lump his decision to burn through almost all of his savings to build a state-of-the-art automotive service garage all the way out here on the Cornish coast into the reckless category. If Nampara Garage failed...well, that would be that. But his relationship with Elizabeth was one such decision, one that could not have crashed and burned worse than if it had been orchestrated by a master storyteller. Once bitten, twice shy, wasn’t that the saying? Well, clearly, he hadn’t learned his lesson.

With bitterness and depreciation lovingly reserved for himself, he’d been grouchy and irritable with others, quick to snap with little cause. It had grown so noticeable it had caused Verity to banish him from the cottage. His own bloody cottage! He’d stomped over for supper after bathing a completely disgusting Garrick, who’d found some mouldering, dead creature to roll around in for what must have been the better part of a day, only to have a box of ready-made, frozen meals thrust into his arms. “You may come back when you’re fit for humanity again,” she’d said as she closed the door in his face.

That lasted two days. He’d been on his best behaviour with Verity ever since.

He suspected his attitude towards the world now had less to do with the subject of his explosive meeting with Demelza than the fact she seemed to haunt every corner of his brain, only to pop out when he least expected it. When he was attempting to round up that miserable mutt of his for the evening, when he was playing a game of pool with Mark. Or when he was deep asleep, his unconscious loosed from the restrictions of his stubborn will until she was fully manifested, lying beneath him, her fair skin glistening with sweat as his hands roamed over her body, firm breasts tipped with ripened nipples, succulent and turgid against his tongue, her lips, parted, whispering his name. Her hands against his shoulders, urging him down to kiss her stomach, to nuzzle the russet curls…

He stopped himself, a curse hissing from between his teeth as his cock twitched in his coveralls. It had only been two nights since _that_ particular little fantasy had woken him, trembling, out of breath. One thing was certain: any difficulties he’d had saying her real name had been resolved, since he’d all but screamed it when he’d come all over his sheets. He’d spent the rest of the night doing laundry; bewildered and appalled in turns over the first wet dream he’d had since adolescence. His embarrassment aside, he remained seriously annoyed at the simple fact that this woman, whom he’d known little more than a week, who had lied to his face about who she was, still managed to infiltrate his thoughts.

Fate being the sadistic fuck it was, he’d received a text from Margaret as he was closing up the garage the following evening:

 

From: Margaret Vosper  
_To: Ross Poldark_  
_23/05/2016 22:18_  
_  
_ It’s been awhile since I saw you last. Fancy a drink? And whatever? <3

 

He’d considered it -- _seriously_ considered it -- for approximately a nanosecond. He might be as horny as a spotty, thirteen-year-old git, but to go to her with the image of another woman firmly wedged in _both_ of his brains wouldn’t have been fair to _any_ of them.

Ross knew his cousin Verity had had some level of contact with Demelza a couple of days after the hostilities, despite his strenuous objections. First, he hadn’t wanted her to fight his battles for him. She’d always come to his aid when they were children, and while it was heart-warming to have her with him as his strongest ally, he was grown enough to manage them now, thank you very much. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what they’d discussed, so he’d finally broken down after he’d walked into the kitchen last evening and seen Verity at her computer, the Carnemore website open on her browser. She’d given him that irritating Cheshire cat smile of hers, saying only that she’d gone into the conversation in mama bear mode, had come away with a much deeper understanding of Demelza and fully intended on befriending the woman, regardless of what he may have to say about it. She also suggested that he get off his ass and do some research. “You’ve got a computer over there in your mancave. Use it.”

Which he’d done; Verity, when she put her mind to it, could put anyone in his or her place without having to raise her voice even once. Despite the lingering hurt, Ross had been impressed with what Demelza had accomplished in her twenty-seven years on the planet. She was on the board of several local charities, including the one Ruth Trenoglos, that tittering idiot of a woman who’d let Demelza’s cat out of the bag, had mentioned. Children's Hospice South West was an organisation Ross had become familiar with three years before.

Mark’s late daughter, Rosalee, had been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumour at the age of four. It had been a horrible time for their entire family. The hospice cared and supported everyone through the crisis, providing respite for Mark and Keren when they’d needed it, allowing them to be Rosalee’s parents, rather than her carers, as well as opportunities for Rosalee to be with other children in a safe, caring and stimulating environment. When she’d passed, the hospice had continued to help the couple through their initial months of bereavement and beyond. Ross was convinced if they hadn’t had the support they would have divorced, long ago. As it was, they were two months away from welcoming their second child into their family.

He’d also come across an article featuring a profile on Demelza’s life prior to her elevation to incoming president of Carnemore from one of those glossy gossip rags. This one referenced a broken relationship from years ago being the catalyst for her academic pursuits.

 

 

> _Carne’s love life has been cloaked in secrecy since the end of her third year at Oxford. Once rumoured to be engaged to George Warleggan, a rising star at Knox Stanley Investments, she left the country to continue her studies abroad and has remained single ever since._

Ross vaguely remembered Warleggan, one of Francis’s friends from Eton. Never a hair out of place, manners honed to perfection. Someone that burnished had to have some rough edges somewhere. Ross wondered if the relationship ended because Demelza had run into a particularly jagged one. He chose to stop speculating about the situation. He knew how the press worked, from very personal experience.

The pictures, though… that was a different story. How one woman could have as many looks as she was a fair bit amazing. He’d seen photos of her at glamorous balls and red-carpet events, ethereal to seductress, innocent to mischievous. In each, her eyes had drawn him in, held him transfixed despite his efforts to keep her at arm’s length.  She was breath-taking in each, her unconventional beauty fresh and dynamic. Despite all of this, he still found he preferred the girl in the peasant blouse and skinny jeans, the one he’d kissed in a rainstorm.

He owed her. He owed her the chance to explain, for him to hear her out if for no other reason than to be able to put this behind them and go on their separate ways. Why, then, did the prospect of that happening fill him with dread? And would she even be willing to talk with him after all of the hateful things he’d said to her? He shook his head. _Enough brooding, Poldark. Time to get to work._

He raised his head from the carburettor an hour later when the crunch of gravel announced the arrival of a vehicle in the drive. Ross squinted, the sun’s brightness bouncing off of the tinted windshield of the Range Rover coming to a stop next to the cottage. It looked just like his cousin’s with the exception of the colour, the darkest ebony. A memory niggled the back of his mind, becoming vivid as he saw the person exiting the driver’s side. It was Demelza.

Paint it black, all right. He experienced a jolt of adrenaline throughout his entire body at the sight of her, dressed in indigo jeans tucked into riding boots, a sharp, black leather motorcycle jacket and white t-shirt. She had a distressed leather messenger bag, the strap slung across her chest, which drew his attention to her breasts and he thanked God she hadn’t noticed him yet. Her hair was unbound, with every colour of autumn falling free across her shoulders. A split second later, she slipped the aviator sunglasses onto her head and turned, her eyes meeting his, as they stood frozen in space and time. Ross’s hand clenched around the screwdriver he’d been holding, and the sharp ridges of the handle bit into his palm. It kept him in the present with the hurt. He took a deep breath, set the tool down and walked out into the sunlight.

“Ross,” she stated. Her voice was steady, cool. He nodded, not trusting his voice. _Coward_. “I have something to give to your cousin, but I’d like to speak with you. If you’ve the time and interest, of course.”

 _‘If you’ve the time and interest?’_ He bit his tongue just in time to keep from telling her not to do him any favours. _Stop jumping to conclusions, you twat_ , he said to himself and cleared his throat. “Uh, sure,” he murmured, crossing his arms. _Genius_.  She in no way resembled the woman he’d harangued a week ago. He should respond in kind. “Yes, we should talk, Demelza.” Her stance changed, a subtle easing of shoulders. Her cheeks blossomed pink and he realized that had been the first time he’d spoken her name to her like a civilized human being, not flung out in anger and sarcasm. “I’ll be here in the garage when you finish your business with Verity.”

She nodded and proceeded towards the house, laughing as Garrick trotted up to her like a well-behaved gentleman, the little fiend. Ross wondered if he should take this opportunity to clean up, put on some fresh clothes, but deciding against it as he turned towards the service bay. No, he was what he was: a proud, hard-working, rough and occasionally grimy mechanic. He took one last look at her as she knocked on the door to the cottage before resuming his work on the carburettor.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Demelza knocked on the cottage door, feeling Ross’s eyes on her and prayed her knees would stop shaking. It had taken her the entire drive for her inner monologue of self-talk to steel herself for that little conversation, if you called it that. She’d drunk in the sight of him when he walked out into the sunlight, as if she’d been thirsty for days. The arms of his coveralls were tied at the waist, exposing the tight, white tank top that conformed along the lines of his lean torso. Strong arms crossed, but not in a defensive manner, but as if they’d simply been comfortable being so. He’d gathered his hair into a sloppy topknot that was slightly askew, which she found unbearably charming. The look in his eyes, however, was unfamiliar to her. Wary, watchful, missing the warmth, playfulness and heat she’d seen the first day of their meeting. They were also devoid of the fury of their confrontation, which she took as a step in the right direction.  

 _Am I truly ready for this?_ she asked herself, praying for Verity to answer the door sooner rather than later. Just then, the heavy oak swung open and Demelza was greeted by the warm smile of the woman who she’d begun to consider a friend. “Hello, Verity.”

“Come in, Demelza,” Verity giggled, stepping aside to let her walk past. “I take it you saw him, yes?” She nodded in the direction of the garage.

“Yes,” Demelza said, breathlessly. “We managed to survive a five sentence conversation without killing one another, so I’ll take that as a win.”

“You actually counted?” Verity laughed and led her into the kitchen. “That’s a first.”

“Stop teasing me,” Demelza pouted before her eyes took in the heavy granite walls, the large hearth at the opposite end of the room and the well-worn appliances. “Oh, Verity, this is lovely.” It was a homey space, smaller than Demelza had gathered from their Skype call. Dried herbs hung from the heavy wood rafters above their heads, a bowl of delicious looking strawberries sat near the sink, glistening with water droplets. The copper pots gleamed over the range, where one of them sat on the burner, gently simmering something that smelled marvelous. “Is that bolognese sauce?”

Verity smiled. “It certainly is. You’ve got a good nose!”

“It just so happens to be one of the only things I know how to cook,” Demelza admitted, blushing. “But I’m a whiz at blitzing curry takeaway in the microwave!”

Verity laughed. “Well, I think I can manage to teach you a thing or two sometime, if you’ve a mind for it.”

“I’d love that,” Demelza said happily, walking over to the pot, taking a deep breath and rolling her eyes. “God, that’s magical.”

“I’ve had it going for about an hour and a half,” Verity said, stepping over to give the sauce a stir. “I always like preparing it in the morning, then putting it in the fridge to let it set until supper time.”

“Because it always tastes better the next day,” Demelza stated. “You’re mimicking that overnight stay that way! Brilliant!”

Verity blushed. “Not really, but thanks.” She motioned to the kitchen table. “I’ve some tea and shortbread if you’d like something to nibble on.”

Demelza shook her head. “Sorry. My stomach is a bit jumpy right now.”

Verity pursed her lips and nudged a cup of tea towards Demelza’s hand. “Are you going to talk with him?”

“Yes,” she grimaced, sighing as she added some lemon to her tea. “I’ve got to, Verity. I must have some kind of resolution to this situation, even if it’s only to say goodbye.” She paused, taking a sip and relishing its comforting slide down her throat. She picked up a biscuit and nibbled. “I do hope, if that is the case, you and I could continue to be friendly.”

Verity arched her brow. “You are welcome here any time, Demelza, and I’m happy to call you friend.”

“Thanks,” Demelza breathed, giving Verity’s hand a squeeze. “Now, I’ve something for you.” She produced a glossy folder from her bag with the words “CarnemoreCares” on the front. “Here’s the program I mentioned to you in our last email. Don’t open this until I leave.”

Verity smirked. “I won’t, but what’s with all of the secrecy?”

“To make certain there’s no potential for someone to say I was giving you preferential treatment or consideration.” CarnemoreCares was a foundation that Demelza’s father agreed to set up as part of her acceptance of the presidency. The purpose was to offer venture capital to support local businesses and innovation projects. During her week away, Demelza and Verity had exchanged several emails, one of which included some of her ideas for her future. “The deadline is next Friday, so be sure to get this postmarked before then.” Demelza eyed the door and swallowed. “And now, I must go face the music.”

“Nonsense. You finish your tea and biscuit, perhaps even have another, and tell me about the spa you visited.” At Demelza’s hesitation, Verity touched her hand. “Don’t let him intimidate you. Remember, first, he’s just as nervous as you are. Second, he’s like that lion with a thorn in his paw. If he growls, it’s because you’re getting close to the truth.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross closed the hood on Paul’s car with a satisfied thunk. The rebuilt carburettor worked like a dream and the tune up had Shirley purring like a very satisfied tiger. He was about to take her out for a spin when he heard the cottage door open.  His eyebrows scaled up to his hairline when he saw the two women embrace as if they’d been friends for ages. What had they been doing for the past week? Trading emails two and three times a day or something? He glowered at his cousin, wishing he’d have wheedled more information out of her. It would give him a better idea of what to expect from this little chat with the ginger-haired woman striding across the yard towards the open service bay door.

He tossed the keys to the car on the workbench and wiped his hands on his bandana. “Have a nice visit with Verity?” he drawled in what he hoped was a casual manner. The pulse at his neck felt as if it would choke him with its pounding.

“As a matter of fact I did,” Demelza confirmed. “Those biscuits of hers are ama….” Her voice trailed off as she slowly turned, taking in the interior of the garage. “Holy shit.” Ross couldn’t help but let out a bark of laughter at her shocked surprise. She jumped, her cheeks turning very pink. “Sorry. But I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“No, I don’t expect you have,” he said, pride swelling in his chest. “There’s nothing like it in the country.” He’d sunk almost every last pence from his Poldark Motors savings account into the building of this place and it showed. Two, massive eight foot ceiling fans turned lazily, circulating the air overhead. He’d had the cement floor epoxied to a high shine that sparkled under the industrial LED lights hanging above each of the three repair bays. He’d set up the detail booth at the end of the garage closest to the door leading to the office. The cabinets for each bay were white with black quartz countertops, each with a heavy roll of butcher paper in easy reach to cover their surfaces for work. Heavy rolling carts, filled with every tool a mechanic could desire, sat red and gleaming at each workstation. The walls had more of the antique petrol station signs Ross had collected over the years, finishing the vibrant space he was thrilled to walk into every morning.

“It’s extraordinary, Ross, it truly is,” she marveled before turning her head to meet his gaze.

The bedazzlement that shone in the crystal-blue depths of her eyes made him speechless for several moments before he gave his head a small shake and cleared his throat. “Thank you very much.” He felt blood rush to his cheeks. _Seriously?! What was he, twelve?_ “I’m quite proud of it.”

“You should be,” she declared, striding around to look at the fixtures and wall surfaces. “News of a place like this should be all over the region.”

He jerked a shoulder, a bit defensively. “Well, my experience with the press has been such that I prefer to keep them at arm’s length.”

She glanced up at him, her eyes distressed and cheeks blooming with colour. “Of course, that was very insensitive of me. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “It’s alright.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Listen, Demelza, if you still wish to talk, I need to make a phone call.”

“Oh, if I’m keeping you from something—”

He raised his hand. “No, Demelza. I just need to let Paul know where he can find the keys to his car when he comes to pick it up.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. She looked as if she were a frightened fawn, eager to bound out of the garage and down the drive. “Where did you wish to talk?”

She squared her shoulders and met his eyes. “Your office would be fine.”

That surprised him. “You’re certain?” he asked. “Our last discussion in there—”

“—Exorcising demons,” she interrupted with a small smile. He nodded. “I’ll wait for you there while you finish your call.”

He watched her as she walked towards the office door. _I’ll give her one thing,_ he thought to himself. _She’s a fearless little thing. How fearless are_ you _, Poldark?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides in her bunker to shield herself from the rocks, sticks and stones heading her way* I know! I know! ANOTHER cliffie! Trust me, you'll thank me for it. Gotta keep you folks interested somehow! :-)
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has commented, left kudos and recommended this fic to your friends. It means the world to me! Thanks also to my friend and beta, Rainpuddle, for all of her help.


	8. Gear Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> Can't get a car going again without a functioning gearbox. This one needs quite a bit of rebuilding. 
> 
> A Modern Romelza AU.

Demelza had said she planned to exorcise demons by waiting for him in his office space, and she’d meant it. She experienced a moment of queasiness as the memories of her last time there flooded her mind. She’d been so cold and wet, chilled to the heart and bone by the revelations of her deceit. She remembered the accusations Ross had flung at her, for there was no way to ever erase the harsh words that had spewed from his lips; lips that had only moments before teased and brushed her own until she’d lost herself in his embrace. Yet now, she forced herself to recall not what he said, but how he’d looked when he’d shouted and jeered at her. Fury, yes, but tremendous hurt and bitter disappointment, too. She fixed those images in her head as she prepared for what was to come.

She was closing the mini-fridge after grabbing a bottle of water when he came through the door. “Oh,” she breathed, startled. “I didn’t think you’d mind?”

“Not at all,” he confirmed, reaching for the handle of the fridge. “Sounds like a good idea.” She stepped back, to give him plenty of room and was surprised when he paused, frowning as he withdrew his hand. “I’m not the kind of man who would physically hurt a woman,” he said stiffly.

Demelza inhaled sharply, shocked by his misinterpretation of actions. “Of course not.” She must set that straight at once. “Even after all that has happened between us, I’ve never been concerned about that, Ross.” She touched his arm, tentatively. “I mean that.”

He nodded and reached once again for the handle. The space behind the bar was snug, and she found herself within inches of him. He’d slid his upper body back into the coveralls, drawing the zipper halfway up his chest and gathered his hair back into a loose ponytail. His scent was clearly discernable: a lingering note from his soap, motor oil, perspiration from a hard day’s work, and his own, unique musk. Strong, masculine, more intoxicating and distracting than she thought it could be. _Too close. Far too close._  

“Why don’t you have a seat over on the couch? I'll be there in a sec.” He gestured towards the front door with his water bottle, shaking her from her musings. “Need to turn off the ‘open’ sign.”

His voice was low and seemed to resonate through her skin to her bones. She eased past him, lightheaded from the close proximity and glad for the space to think clearly once again. She slid the messenger bag off and removed her jacket, hanging both on the coat rack near the office door before crossing the room to the couch. The butter-soft leather creaked as she sank back against the cushions, shifting her weight onto one hip in order to extract a yellow Post-It note she’d forgotten from her jeans pocket.

It was, of course, at this awkward moment that he’d joined her by the couch. His brow furrowed. “What are you doing?”

She sat back hurriedly, showing him the slip of paper. “I...just jotted a couple of notes for myself,” she admitted, annoyed at the blood that rushed to her cheeks. So what if she had? She didn’t want to forget anything she knew she wanted to say to him.

“Is that some sort of prepared speech you intend to give me?”

“No, Ross, it’s not,” she snapped. Something in his deprecating tone had stilled the kaleidoscope of butterflies in her stomach more effectively than all of the self-talk she’d prattled in her brain on the trip to Nampara. Anxiety was instantly replaced with anger and set her teeth on edge. “I tend to forget some of the things I wish to say if I am nervous about something.” She surged from the sofa to face him, hands on her hips. “I do not want that happening today, when what I have to say is simply too important to be misconstrued if I should put a word wrong.” She pushed past him. “This was a mistake, excuse me.”

“Wait a second.” He caught her hand as she moved towards the coat rack where she’d left her things. “I’m sorry, Demelza,” he offered, the stain of sarcasm she’d heard moments ago now gone. “What is it you wish to say?” He gestured back towards her seat. “I promise I will listen fully before I open my mouth again.”

It was a good thing she had a healthy bit of temper sizzling through her veins to keep her on task, the warmth of his fingers so beckoning, the temptation to lace hers alongside his strong. She released his hand, returning to her seat. “First, I want to apologize for what happened last week.” She looked him in the eye, hoping he saw confidence in her gaze, not the flurry of nerves that made her heart race in her chest. “I’ve no excuse for it, and know that my dishonesty hurt you a great deal.” The hazel depths of his eyes darkened, had grown bruised and circumspect as she’d spoken, but she held his gaze despite the urge to run. “I am very sorry, Ross.” The words spoken at last, she looked down at her hands, feeling her throat growing tight with tears she would not shed.

He was silent for so long she wondered if he’d left the room, until he briefly touched her arm. She jumped, her eyes opening wide to meet his. “Thank you, Demelza.”

He’d said her real name at least a half a dozen times since they’d met earlier in the day and she found she’d never grow tired of hearing it from him. “I appreciate that, very much,” she exhaled, a little breathless. “I know you didn’t have to accept the apology.”

“True enough,” he acknowledged, twisting the top off of his water. His ready acceptance of that fact stung more than it should have. She nudged that aside, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he drank. His Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow, and she tried not to remember what the muscular column of his throat had felt like under her fingers, when they’d kissed. She gave herself a shake when he set the nearly empty bottle down onto the coffee table. “If I hadn’t accepted, this entire thing would have remained irritating, like a splinter under the skin, and unresolved.” He shifted on the couch, his arm coming up around the back, his hand inches from her shoulder. “I said some horrible things to you that day, and I am very sorry for how they came out,” he stated. The look in his eyes, still intent and fixed upon hers, had grown shielded, revealing a fortress he’d built around himself. “As sorry as I am about the delivery, I cannot deny the question raised has taken up residence in my head since our argument, one I need to have answered, for the peace of mind of all concerned, as well as for any hope of our moving forward together.”

Demelza was ninety-nine percent certain what he wanted to ask, yet she could tell he was struggling to find the right words to say it. “Just ask me, Ross.” His knee was inches from her thigh, and she touched it lightly. She felt the muscles under the pads of her fingertips tense reflexively and quickly withdrew her hand. “However it comes across, I promise I’ll listen first, and try not to react.”

He nodded once, frowning. “Did you lie about who you were because I’m just a mechanic?” he asked, his gaze frank and unflinching. She’d done so, closing her eyes almost as soon as he’d started. “Not the sort of person you could or would ever want to be seen with, given who you are?”

Each word struck tiny blows to her heart. _Listen_ , she crooned to herself. _Just listen. Let him speak them now so you can be clear when the time comes to respond._ “No,” she rasped, slowly shaking her head. She opened her eyes, blinking several times to clear the moistness away before meeting his gaze. “That’s not it at all.”

“Do you see what I mean?” he went on, as if he hadn’t heard her. He gave his scalp a hard scratch, several unruly strands of hair escaping the elastic he’d used to contain them. “Regardless of how I say it, it sounds as if I’m being the biggest prick in the world, judging you in the harshest way possible.”

She saw the briefest flash of vulnerability cross his expression before the wall was back. “No, Ross.”  Her voice was firmer, more confident this time. “I could give a toss about social status. It’s not the way I was raised to think, because it wasn’t that long ago that my family were considered to be working class.” She noticed him look at her with some surprise, and pocketed that intel for later. “Besides, some of the most elegant, well-bred people have the morals and manners of a pack of hyenas, while the opposite is true of others. Am I right?” Demelza waited until he nodded. She was, after all, speaking to a person in the latter category, for pete’s sake.

“And as far as what you do for a living?” She glanced around the office, enjoying the comfort and coziness of the space he’d created. “It’s clear to see you’ve put a great deal of thought into the garage, what you want it to be, and have been successful in running your business in such a way that makes you and your customers happy. That is nothing if not inestimably admirable.” She smiled and was pleased to see some of the tightness in his neck and shoulders ease. “I meant what I said in there: that it’s marvelous, and more people should know about it.”

“Thanks, Demelza, for answering my incredibly rude question,” he said roughly. “It was wrong of me to assume you thought otherwise.” She nodded, not trusting her voice at the moment, and reached for her bottle of water. “It’s an insecurity of mine, one I’ll admit that has come up in the past that I have had to come to terms with, and have yet to do so gracefully.”

She swallowed and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “You realise how hard it is _not_ to pull at that particular thread, don’t you?”

He nodded tersely. “I know you’ve questions for me, and you will get answers, I promise---”

“---But I still have a little more to answer for, is that right?” she asked, her tone more waspish than she’d intended.

“It’s not a matter of ‘answering for’ anything, Demelza,” he clarified, having the decency to blush. “You’ve apologized for the what, but have not yet shared why there was a need for the deception in the first place. That is an important part of this whole thing.”

“Just as understanding the reasons for the insecurities surrounding your work and your social status, I might add,” she countered. He wasn’t the only one feeling prickly at the moment.

“Also true,” he admitted. He toyed with the bandana that sat between them on the couch. It was a nervous habit she’d noticed, and it somehow made his vulnerability more tangible. “So, how do you wish to proceed? You show me yours and I show you mine?” She pursed her lips as he grinned wickedly, which she didn’t find helpful in the least. “So to speak?”

“Let me get this over with,” she said, her stomach knotting and unknotting. She set the bottle down. “I do have an explanation that should serve to provide more context, if you wish to hear it,” she said, shifting to mirror his posture: one arm along the back of the couch, her left leg tucked under and crossed with her right.

“I believe I just asked to, don’t you?” The wickedness was gone, replaced with a smile that showed a brief glimpse of the warmth she’d seen the first day they’d met. It made her toes curl in her boots. _Stop it._ “Although if I had to guess,” he mused, “I think it was because of a previous relationship. Am I correct?”

She blanched, all of the warmth draining from her body. “How did you…”

“Google is not a friend to either of us,” he grumbled companionably. He pointed at the grease-smudged, battered Apple laptop that sat on the other end of the coffee table. “I’ve no doubt you’ve done a bit of web-surfing about me since last week’s debacle, which means you’ve probably heard a bit about my relationship with Elizabeth, yes?” His voice had sharpened when he’d spoken his former fiancee’s name.

“Nothing too detailed,” Demelza nodded, knowing she must be the colour of an over-ripened tomato by now and making a mental note never to tell him about her conversation with Verity.

“Well, all _I_ found, besides reports of some of the good works you’ve done around the area, was a quick blurb on one of those gossip websites, alluding to a connection with George Warleggan.”

“Judas,” she muttered, cradling her face in her hands. “I need the earth to swallow me whole. At any time at all.”

“We all have skeletons in the closet,” Ross reasoned, “some larger and louder than others.” He sighed, touching her shoulder. It made her shiver. “Look, Demelza, if we’re ever to see our way past this---”

“---I know, I know,” she interrupted, her hands falling into her lap. “And I was ready to tell you everything, too, it’s just the moment’s now _here_ . It’s _real_.” She blew out a breath, annoyed as hell at herself. “Listen, I know it’s only eleven o’clock in the morning, but do you have anything stronger than water? I think I’m going to need it.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross sat back in surprise. Personally, he usually made a point to refrain from drinking before noon. A pint with some haddock and chips must be law around here somewhere. “Uh, are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely sure,” Demelza confirmed. He peered at her face, finding worry and uncertainty clear in her expressive eyes.

“Well, yes, I do have a few things laid by here.” Come to think of it, a couple of fingers of Glendalough wouldn’t hurt him at all, either. He rubbed his weirdly damp palms against his fabric-covered thighs. “Wouldn’t be much of a mancave without it.”

She laughed dryly. He got up from the couch and went behind the bar to peer at his stash. He’d had to restock a couple of things after the bender that followed his last “conversation” with the woman now sitting on the other side of the room. So far, he thought they’d managed through things quite well, considering. The little sparks of fire he’d seen in her as they talked had given him pause to hope their interaction wouldn’t be one filled with tears and sobbing. Ross was useless around tears. If he wasn’t in a towering, vision-narrowing temper -- as he had been last week -- he was not above begging, bargaining, pleading and promising the world in order to get them to stop. Despite lingering resentments about his standing that always seemed to burble away in his mind, he knew his resolve around Demelza was shaky enough as it was. They still had much about this predicament to unpack before he thought they could even begin to get clear enough of the past to see a way forward, with no regrets, hidden uncertainties or issues that could be prodded back to life at the first sign of trouble.

He peered over the bar in time to see her staring into the cold hearth, eyes unseeing and shadowed by...something. _Jesus, what happened to her,_ he wondered to himself. He cleared his throat. “I’ve some cider, porter, some Irish whiskey, or some tequila, if that should be of interest. No limes or salt, though,” he called without looking at her. _Coward_. “I could get something lighter -- wine or something like that -- from over at the cottage, if you’d prefer that.”

“No, the whiskey will do nicely. Neat,” she said, her voice stronger than he thought it would be, given the expression she’d just had on her face. He popped his head up to look at her, and it was clear that momentary vulnerability had been locked away. “What?” She frowned, set her jaw. “You think I can’t handle that?”

“Oh, no,” he blurted out, his knees popping as he rose from his crouch, a bottle of Glendalough in one hand, a pair of whiskey glasses pinched between the thumb and forefinger of the other. He walked around the bar and joined her on the couch. “I did not mean to imply that at all.” He poured her a splash, only to receive a narrowed-eye glare in return, before adding another finger’s worth. He poured the same amount in his own glass and raised it. “Here’s to revelations,” he offered, figuring much would be revealed before this discussion was finished.

“And graceful acceptance,” she countered. _Touche_ , he thought to himself. Their glasses chimed together. To his surprise, she gave hers an expert swirl and a lingering sniff before sipping the deep amber liquid. He followed suit. It was one of his favourites, the scent carrying notes of cherry and figgy pudding --  something he remembered with great fondness from his childhood -- its palate sweet and creamy with spicy ginger and almond in the finish. He hadn’t realised he’d closed his eyes to savour the taste of the liquor and found her staring at him when he opened them, her eyes smoky-blue and contemplative.

“What do you think?” His voice was gruff, self-conscious under her scrutiny.

“It’s delicious,” she hummed, “a personal favourite of mine.”

He smiled. “I didn’t peg you as a whiskey aficionado.”

“It was something I learned to appreciate during my time in South Africa. Both Scotch and Irish, although I’ve yet to develop an appreciation for American bourbon, Yanks being thin on the ground there,” she related, taking another sip before setting her glass down. “I’ll save the rest for when I finish.”

“Y-Yes, of course,” Ross stammered. He’d been watching the lower curve of her jaw as she’d tilted her head back to savour the spirits and discovered he’d had to search his mind to remember what she intended to do, so lost in the moment he’d become. That needed to stop. He leaned back against the cushions, breaking the cozy, intimate atmosphere that had surrounded them on the couch and cupped his whiskey in his hands. “Now. Whenever you’re ready.”

She blinked, her eyes turning serious and took another deep breath. “I attended a girl’s school for secondary and was pretty bookish, so I didn’t start regularly interacting with men, other than my brothers, until I got to uni.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her cheeks pinkening. “I was pretty naive about everything.” Ross thought she looked very young in that moment. He found it hard to believe that she hadn’t had men chasing her all over campus, as lovely as she was. “I met George through a friend of mine named Caroline Penvenen. They were both in their final year.” She gave him another quick glance before toying with a buckle on her boot. “Verity told me he was friends with her brother Francis, from years back.”

He glowered into his glass. “I wonder what else Verity told you about,” he muttered out loud. Damn, he hadn’t meant to do that.

“She only said that you’d gone through a very serious breakup a year ago,” Demelza narrowed her eyes. “Beyond that, I let my fingers do the searching on Google.”

“Getting back to that thread again, aren’t you?” he asked, knocking back the rest of his whiskey and setting the glass down with a clack. He held up a hand. “I know. We’ll get there soon enough.” He poured himself another splash. “But yes, it’s true; Francis has been friends with George since Eton. I went to school here in town, so I didn’t meet George until a few years ago.” Although Ross did his banking with Pascoes, one couldn’t live in this part of Cornwall and not be aware of Warleggan, the wunderkind of Knox Stanley Investments. “He’d managed to persuade my Uncle Charles to transfer all banking and investments to Knox Stanley about a year after George joined the firm.” He arched a brow at her and took another sip of whiskey. “Always rubbed me the wrong way. Just a little too---”

“‘---Perfect’ is -- I believe -- the word you’re looking for,” Demelza finished for him.

Ross snorted. “True enough. Never a hair out of place and all that. I would have used the term ‘slick’ or ‘oily’,” he clarified. “I once overheard him bragging about the Poldark Motors account as being the biggest fish he’d ever bagged.” He glanced at her, concerned as she’d noticeably paled before his eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she said, a little too quickly, her eyes fixed onto the glass sitting on the coffee table. Ross leaned over, picked it up and handed it to her. She nodded her thanks, taking a healthy quaff with nary a flinch. “I suppose what I meant by ‘perfect’ was to focus on his impeccability. He was very handsome, well-mannered, and knew just what to say to me.” She grimaced. “It started slowly, with flowers and little trinkets, dinners, and dancing. Skiing in Gstaad over the holidays.”

Ross’s jaw tightened. It was always something to hear the monied speak of luxurious trips to the Continent or the States as if they were the same as an everyday drive to Bodmin. Despite a family name that went back several hundred years, he’d been born on the poor side of the Poldarks. As a result, he’d struggled not to let the fact that some in this world were granted more opportunities in life, simply because of wealth and family connections. He’d been able to manage this most of the time. Still, it rankled. More than it ought to.

“He was the first man I ever loved.” Ross’s head jerked up, her admission tearing him away from his brooding, just in time to catch sight of her nervous swallow. She met his eyes, her cheeks flaming. “My very first, if you know what I mean.”

Ross felt hot and cold all over at the same time, the latter forming like ice in his chest. “Yes. I know.”

“It was on a trip over to Paris about nine months after we’d started seeing one another that he told me he loved me, too.” _Paris, now._ The damn country was a Chunnel ride away, and he’d still yet to go. The ice in his chest began to melt under simmering envy. She sniffed and Ross stiffened. Demelza noticed and laughed dryly. “I’ll not cry yet, Mr Poldark.”

That laugh broke the tension that had stretched around them tighter than a snare drum’s skin. “You greatly relieve my mind, Miss Carne.”

She took another sip before continuing. “The things he’d said and done, they were so perfect, so ideal. _He_ was my ideal. I trusted him, that he loved me because he’d told me so.” The last few words trailed off as she stared, once again, into the empty hearth, her brow furrowing as she seemed to drift away into her memories, good and bad. Her fingers came up to toy with the delicate pearl pendant necklace she wore. _“_ But, I really shouldn’t have done.”

“Good Lord,” Ross rasped. Fury surged up from the soles of his feet to swell in his veins. “He didn’t hurt you---?”

“---Hurt me? Physically, you mean? No,” Demelza interrupted. “I think if he had ever done so my brothers would have thrashed him within an inch of his life and dumped him down one of the old mine shafts at Wheal Leisure.” She narrowed her eyes. “After I’d had a turn myself, of course.”

“And me,” Ross grumbled aloud, swallowing the last of his whiskey and baring his teeth with a hiss.

A rueful smile teased her mouth. “In the end, all he truly wanted was access to my father and his investment portfolio. Not me. When my father refused him, he left me. Said he considered our year together a miserable return on investment.” She swallowed. “Along with some other choice words that I won’t repeat.”

“Jesus,” Ross breathed as she tossed the last of her whiskey back in a single gulp. He rose to retrieve the bottle and brought it over to the coffee table, refilling their glasses. “What a fucking twat.”

She took what he offered and sent half of it back and down her throat. “I couldn’t have said it better myself, Ross,” Demelza added, her voice hoarse.

He had to know. “And you’ve not been involved with anyone since?”

She shook her head. “A casual date here and there, but nothing as serious as it was with George,” she said, leaning back against the cushions and staring up at the ceiling. “Between my studies and my past experience, I always found it easier to focus on my coursework.” She slowly turned her head until she met his gaze, the pulse thumping visibly in her throat. “Whenever I did find someone who interested me, we never moved beyond a second or third date, because by then they’d learned who I was and I could never trust if they were interested in me, Demelza the student, or Ms Demelza Carne, heiress to Carnemore Mineral. Working in that field, keeping my ties to the business was impossible. ”

“So, what was it about me that was different?” Ross asked, still needing to close a loop in his mind. “Although _that_ sounds as if I’m fishing for compliments.” He fidgeted with his glass. “Which I’m not. Oh, shut up, you idiot,” he muttered, embarrassed.

She laughed, a honest, teasing laugh much like the ones they’d shared at the beach before everything had gone pear-shaped. “I promise I didn’t take your question that way,” Demelza giggled. He suspected the whiskey had something to do with her openness with him. He didn’t mind it at all. “Well, time, I suppose, is one thing,” she said matter-of-factly. “Before last week, I hadn’t been out on a date for almost two years. Work on my doctorate required every moment I could spare, and when I started my field studies, it would have been imprudent to try to engage in a romantic relationship out in the platinum fields. But, there was more to it that that.” She rose from the couch and began to pace. Finally, she turned. “Have you ever met someone where there was almost an instantaneous...thing between you?”

Ross’s skin tingled at her words. He remembered his initial response to Elizabeth’s overtures. Yes, he’d felt attraction to her, followed quickly by lust. She was -- still was -- an incredibly beautiful woman. But, if he were honest with himself, it hadn’t had the same dizzying, disorienting sweep into an almost compulsive need to learn more as it had with Demelza. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, and for that twenty-four hour period, everything he’d done had revolved around her. What he’d felt for Elizabeth at the car show was a pittance to what he’d experienced when he’d first laid eyes upon the ginger-haired woman in front of him.

She’d bared her soul about Warleggan, bravely and unwavering from start to finish. He had to offer her the truth. “Not for a very long time. And never like it was that day, with you.”

“Exactly so,” she breathed. “Ross, I’d never in my life experienced a moment of like the one I did with you at Leisure that evening. Not even with George! It scared the hell out of me, because it was something so unlike anything that had happened to me before.” It was as if she had been lit from within, sparkling and alive. “And so, there I was, with all of this...” Her hands gestured in the air between them, the sunlight winking on the tennis bracelet she wore on her right wrist. “...This _history_ muddying my thoughts, and I was really, truly compelled to get to know you better.” She stopped. “Like I said, it wasn’t anything I planned or set out to do, but when the opportunity presented itself---”

“---You took it,” he finished. He got it, he truly got it. He rose, walking over to the pool table, turning his back to her. He leaned forward, absentmindedly sending the cue ball in geometric patterns as it bounced against the bumpers. It didn’t make him feel any better that she thought he’d balk at pursuing her because of her status in society. But who was he to judge, when he’d leapt to the same conclusion the instant he’d found out the truth? _Hypocrite much, Poldark? I thought so._ And didn’t he know how it felt to be targeted by someone who was just after him for his money? He couldn’t deny that if he tried.

“I fully intended to tell you everything when I got here last week, Ross. I swear that to you.” Her voice was soft, but near enough to be heard. He turned to find her standing within arm’s length. “It wasn’t something I could do over the phone or texts.”

“No,” he agreed, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. “That would have been much worse.”

“Can you forgive me? Or, at the very least, give me a chance to earn your trust again?” she asked.

“There is still more to go before I think we could consider the book closed.” The hopefulness he’d seen in her eyes looked deflated. “Please, Demelza. Have a seat,” he murmured, motioning towards the couch. He remained standing, knowing he thought better on his feet, and so he would remain true to his own resolve, which was presently constructed out of tissue paper. “First, the matter of that thread you were tempted to tug earlier, remember that?”

“Yes, I do,” she agreed. “I would like to ask you a few questions about that, but it can wait for another ti---”

“No, it’s something that needs to said today. You need to understand the why behind my attitude, the reason for the anger. It had a lot to do with what happened last week, of course, and the history of my situation with Elizabeth, but much of it goes back beyond that.” He sighed, his hand absently massaging the side of his neck, tense with anxiety. “Resentments I’ve carried for as long as I can remember. You need to hear it, so you can be sure you wish to explore this any further.” She frowned for several moments before she rose from the couch. He froze, panic tickling the back of his throat. “Are you leaving?”

“No,” she said, walking to the bar, pulling two more bottles of water from the fridge. “More water, because I have a feeling I’ll need a bit more of that whiskey before you’re through.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Demelza offered Ross the water bottle and returned to the couch. “Do you mind if I take off my boots?” she asked.

He shook his head, tossing the bottle cap onto the mantle. “Are you too warm? I should have asked about the room temperature earlier.”

“No, I’m fine, Ross,” she assured him. She wondered if he was stalling. “Please, go on.”

He heaved a sigh. “Has Verity told you anything about our family?” he asked.

“Not a lot,” Demelza admitted, sliding the boots from her feet. They were great for riding, but made it impossible for her to curl up onto the couch as she wanted. “She told me there were two brothers born to your grandfather, and that your father was the second son.”

“Yes, the second son and, as a result, the recipient of scarce little after my grandfather died.” He set the bottle down and picked up his glass. _Oh dear._ “My father was Joshua, the black sheep of the family. Or, I should say, he was the black sheep until he met my mother, Grace.” A smile flickered across his features at the mention of her name. He dug in his back pocket and produced his iPhone. It was an older phone, with the screen’s glass cracked from one end to the other. He opened his photos folder, swiped his finger across the screen several times before coming to a rest. He handed it to Demelza. It was a wedding photo, the man and woman appearing to be over the moon, coming out of the registry office in their early 1980’s fashions. Ross’s father had been a good looking man, tall and broad like his son, but fair as Ross was dark. His mother had been an extraordinarily beautiful woman, with black hair and hazel eyes. And, Demelza noted with surprise, quite a good deal younger than his father.

She handed it back to him. “What a handsome pair,” she murmured. “You favour your mother.” Ross nodded. “It’s the same for me,” she added, “all the way down to the name.”

“I have her maiden name for my middle,” he said absently. “Vennor. Her parents were not very enthusiastic about the match.”

“Why not?” she blurted before blushing. “That was rude of me.”

“My mother’s family was fairly well off,” he replied. “They disinherited her when she married my father.”

“What?” Demelza felt a surge of injustice swell for this woman she’d never met. “That’s like something you’d read in a Victorian melodrama.”

“She didn’t care,” Ross continued, and it was clear to Demelza he admired his mother for her attitude. “She’d met my dad at a dance in Truro, and that was it. She was nearly half my father’s age when they married. Caused quite the scandal.” He drank the rest of his whiskey. “They had a difficult life, financially, but they loved each other to distraction. I came along about three years after that was taken.”

“So, do I get to see any baby pictures of you?” she asked, trying to do something to lighten the mood. He arched a brow. “Nevermind.”

“Things were fine for many years. We lived simply, from farming and fishing, raising cattle. We were in touch with the Trenwith side of the family.” He motioned towards the house. “Verity and Francis were good mates of mine, and my Uncle Charles would welcome us to their estate quite often.” He paused. “I didn’t start to understand why there was such a difference in the way the two sides of the family lived until my mother died, when I was ten.” This was something they shared between them: the loss of a mother at such a young age. She wanted to ask him more about this time, if she’d passed from a lingering illness, or if it had been sudden, like her mum. Now, she sensed, was not the time. “After she died, my father...well...let’s just say he resumed some of his previous diversions.”

“And what were those?”

“Nicking the occasional car, drinking quite a lot and gambling,” he said matter of factly. “Never got caught with the first, was pretty embarrassing with the second and dismal with the third. Whenever the money was in short supply, he would go on tirades about the injustices of the world, especially the fact that his father had been so old fashioned about the estate.” He returned to the couch. “From my father’s view, there was no need to split it between elder and younger sons.”

“To be honest, I think I agree with your father,” Demelza added, nodding at Ross’s surprised look. “Much of that kind of thinking went the way of the dodo back at the turn of the 20th century, unless one was a member of the landed gentry or some such. It’s not like they were on Downton Abbey or something.” He gave her a sardonic smirk, his eyes half lidded with humour. She winced. “Sorry. Go on, please.”

“Well, after my mother died, my father disappeared for about a week. My uncle was about to call the police when he received a call from them himself. Joshua Poldark was in one of their cells, having been thrown in following a spectacular pub crawl that took him much of the way across Cornwall.” He rolled the glass between his two palms. “He’d lost over fifteen thousand quid at the casino.”

Demelza set her bottle down and gripped his forearm. He started, looking at her with those sad, tormented eyes. All she wanted to do was gather him against her and hold him for hours and hours. She could only offer her sympathies. “I’m so sorry.”

Ross nodded before reaching for the Glendalough. “There was not enough money to send me away to school, which had been the plan before my mum’s passing.” He snorted. “He’d blown it all. And he refused to accept help from his brother, flat out refused it. So I went to state school down in Truro. It was alright, enough challenge to keep me out of trouble.” He offered to top off her glass, which she declined. She needed to have her wits about her, to make sure she didn’t miss anything. “I was determined to make something of myself, Demelza. Even though the old prejudices of my father’s were always surrounding me, I’d told myself I wouldn’t let them rule me.”

She’d remembered he’d mentioned going to college in Bristol for a few years, but only now learned he’d had to leave his automotive program a year before completing because of his father’s sudden death. His uncle, out of long festering guilt or some such, had given Ross a job at one of their dealerships. “I’d seen what pride in the face of opportunity could wrought. I wasn’t going to let that happen to me, not with that one.”

“I worked hard, saved everything I could and eventually proved myself to be worthy of the job as head of automotive maintenance at Poldark Motors. And I’d been content to stay there, innovate, bring the company into the 21st century, too.” He glowered into his glass. “But saving everything meant no trips to Gstaad or Paris for me. No fancy clothes or cars, just old junkers I could rebuild.” She felt a chill sneak down her spine, gasping when his index finger ran along the tennis bracelet on her wrist, its metal and stones sparkling in the early afternoon sun. “So along comes Elizabeth, one of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen, and she’s interested in me, the mechanic in charge of maintaining all of the cars at this auto auction. And, as time goes on, she doesn’t seem to be bothered by my lower economic standing within the family. Until I turned down a promotion to head the company after Francis screwed things up at the London flagship.” He set the glass down on the coffee table hard, splashing some of the amber liquid across the glass to puddle near the laptop. “That’s when her true colours revealed themselves.”

She arched a brow at him. “What did Elizabeth do to you?”

“I caught her fucking Francis in our bedroom during the engagement party I was hosting for us.”

Demelza choked on her water and spent the next few moments coughing up what felt like a lung. “Judas…” she wheezed, goggling at him. “It’s the most despicable thing I’ve ever heard of!” She stared at him, his back ramrod straight with pride while angry colour burned on his cheekbones. “You mean she left you when you decided not to become the head of the company...because of the money?”

He booped her on the nose. “Well done, you.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross blinked owlishly as he watched Demelza angrily pacing back and forth across the floor, a downright impressive stream of obscenities flying out of her mouth. As she ranted, the long, cultured vowels frittered away until she could have been the girl who sold chips down by the beach. He slid the glass of whiskey farther away from him. He didn't need any more of _that_ today. 

“That reprehensible... _twat_!” she bellowed.

He chuckled, wandering over to the Keurig to make some coffee. “Sounds like we’ve both had our fair share of ‘em.”

“Do you think this is funny?” she asked, incredulous.

“What’s the saying?” he pondered. “Laugh to keep from crying?”

“But she’s the reason,” she deduced.  “ _That’s_ why you thought I was just a spoiled, little rich girl, born with a silver spoon in my mouth and ‘out for a bit of fun with the working class’, or whatever it was?”

“Well?” he said, cautiously. “You _are_ the heiress of a multi-billion pound conglomerate, Demelza. That’s a fact that can’t be denied.”

She flared her nostrils, snorting with disdain. “Well, let me be absolutely certain I clear up your misconception, right now!” she snapped. “My family didn’t start out with riches passed along by generations and generations, like yours, Ross Poldark.”

“---Now wait a second,” he interrupted, the coffee forgotten.

“I know, your father came out on the proverbial short end of the stick,” she growled. “Point taken. But didn’t you hear me say earlier I wasn’t raised to give a damn about social status? My great-great-grandfather worked in the mines near Illugan as a tributer, working class through and through. Over the years, he began to stash money away in the hopes of increasing that nest egg into something that would help raise his family up, even if it was just enough to send some of his children off to school. That’s what he did, as did his son, and so on, all the way to father. By the time the job was turned over to him, they’d managed to save almost a million pounds, which he invested in his very first mine. He worked long, hard hours, and oftentimes left my mother at home alone with seven children, Ross. Seven! Until she died in a car crash when I was ten years old. After that, we grew up around the mine, learning bits and bobs from Papa and the others, while they kept their eyes on us. We lived frugally, always plowing the proceeds from the business back into the business.”

“I didn’t---”

“---know, of course you didn’t know,” she hissed. He stalked back over to where she stood, angry colour riding high along her cheekbones. “And lest you think I had it easy at school, I was awarded a couple of scholarships for my undergraduate degree, but I had to work all through uni to make up the difference, including summer work at the mines once I’d chosen to pursue the field. This tennis bracelet you were ‘admiring’ earlier?” She waggled her hand in his face. “It was my graduation present from all of my brothers, who’d saved money for it the entire time I was away in South Africa. Silver and cubic zirconia, unlike the platinum and diamonds I’m sure you assumed it to be, and of great, sentimental value to me.” She touched the pendant at her neck. “This was a gift from Caroline when I turned twenty five, the first real diamond and pearl I’ve ever owned.” She swung her arm in the direction of the Range Rover parked nearby. “That was a gift from my father after I agreed to become head of the company when he retires. It’s barely two weeks old, for pity’s sake!”

“Alright, point tak---”

“---I’ll not pretend that we aren’t wealthy,” she broke in, defiant. “We are. I’ll not pretend the company isn’t worth what the papers say. It’s true. It’s also true I received a modest trust when I turned twenty-five, although I’m sure ten million pounds goes far beyond what _you’d_ consider modest.” It was, but he certainly wasn’t about to tell _her_ that. “I will receive one million pounds each year until I turn thirty five, at which point I inherit fifty-one percent of the company shares. I donate well over half of my annual trust fund every year, a part of those ‘good works’ you referenced earlier. The rest? Well, there’s a slab that Queen and Country are happy to relieve me of every year. What’s left is well under one-hundred thousand pounds, probably what you were making when you were at Poldark Motors.”

He blushed. She was absolutely right.

“Have I, at last, disabused you of the image of Demelza Carne, the spoiled, little rich girl, looking for some kicks amongst the unwashed working-class?” she spat, flouncing over to the coat rack to snatch up her belongings. “Or do you still think that’s influencing me in some way?”

“Wait a second, Demelza!” Ross leapt over the back of the couch and scrambled to the door, pressing his hand against it before she could reach for the handle.  “Listen, you asked me to offer an explanation as to why my perceptions were what they were, just as you done for me. I didn’t judge your decision making or thinking about the situation between us. But we had to get it all out in the open if we were to have had a chance to rebuild what we both think might be here, between us.” She’d lifted her chin, stubborn tears trembling on her lashes. His hands grasped her shoulders. “I was a complete horse’s ass to you, and it would serve me right for you to slap me across the face and march out of here for good.”

“It certainly would!” she agreed, her last word a croaking sob.

He crushed her in his arms just as her tears broke and she wept all over his chest. “God, I’m an absolute tosser, I know I am. Please forgive me.” All that seemed to do was make her cry harder. “Please, don’t cry, Demelza. I’m so sorry, please.” He pressed kisses along her hairline and cheek, tasting the salt of her tears until he captured her face in his hands, his lips finding hers in a desperate kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! VERY glad that chapter is out of the way -- I hope you liked it! Let me know what you think. Thanks again for all of you support, and for Rain who is always right. She knows what that means.


	9. Smelting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> **SMELTING:** _the process in which mineral ores are subjected to heat combined with chemical reducing agents in a furnace, to liberate base or precious metals for sale._[Cornish Mining World Heritage](http://www.cornish-mining.org.uk/delving-deeper/glossary)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would have been a good title for the last chapter, but it applies to this one as well. A different kind of heat...a different kind of "chemical reducing agents". The quest for precious metals begins...

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her lips. “Please, Demelza.”  

Tears fell afresh, another gift received. Contrition. Need. Sorrow. Elation. Each emotion pounded through her veins as his mouth took hers, wrapped in the strong arms she’d dreamt of since they’d held her in the rain-soaked cab of her company truck. Her fingers flexed against his broad chest, and she stepped closer until they touched from head to thigh. He tasted of whiskey and Ross, her awareness of his scent growing ten fold with his nearness. His hands slid along her lower back, his desire boldly evident as his fingers slid into the back pockets of her jeans to pull her tight against his hips.

She wriggled, freeing her hands to link behind his neck, her nails grazing the fine hairs that grew along his nape. He growled in response, trembling as his tongue danced against hers.  She hadn’t an inkling how much time passed; her head spun with pleasure and gratitude for this second chance. Soon, he drew back, pressing gentle kisses against her swollen lips, her cheeks and her forehead before looking into her eyes. They appeared to be lit with flames from within, hunger and need warring with propriety. “Demelza.”

She would never tire of hearing him speak her name. “Ross,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his throat. They vibrated at his humming sigh.

“I’ll not apologize for it,” he murmured roughly in her ear.

“Apologize for what?” she asked, nuzzling her nose against his jaw, smiling to herself when the hands stroking along her upper arms tightened when her tongue traced the edge of his well-kept beard.

“Kissing you.” His voice was pitched an octave lower than it had been earlier that day. He drew back to meet her eyes. “I’ve wanted to do that since you sped away from here last week.”

She shivered from the heat of his words. “No apology necessary.” She stepped closer as his mouth sought access to her neck. “I honestly wondered if I'd ever know what it was like to kiss you again.” He tasted her throat, the sleek brush of his beard making her toes curl against the polished concrete floor. It made her realise she’d left her boots by the couch when -- only moments ago -- she’d made to march out of this room and his life forever. Well, she certainly wouldn’t have got far. “It broke my heart thinking it might never happen.”

His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing the lingering tears that clung. His eyes were the the colour of the Colorado pine forests, so dark she simply wished to lose herself within them. “Give me the chance and I’ll kiss you forever,” he whispered as his lips captured hers. Once again, she was cast adrift, weightless in his embrace, breathless with a need that answered his own. His body shuddered against hers when she drew his bottom lip into her mouth, in turns nipping and soothing it with her teeth and tongue. Suddenly, he groaned, tearing his mouth from hers and gasping for air.

He pressed his forehead against hers. “We should probably stop now,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “I can’t believe I’m saying this.”

“Wh-what?” His voice sounded as if he were a mile away.

“I need to clear my head a bit.” He tilted his pelvis against her, the ridge of his sex hard and insistent against her lower abdomen. “I’m willing to bet the same is true for you.”

Her hands caressed the strong muscles of his lower back under the thin tank top, her pinkies slipping along the elastic waistband of his boxers. It was only then she realized she’d lowered the zipper of his coveralls nearly to his groin. “Oh, my God,” she moaned. A dull, answering ache beat heavily between her legs, made her breasts tingle and yearn for his hands to cup them. “You’re right,” she sighed shakily, her cheeks blazing as she reluctantly slipped her arms from around his waist, easing the zip back to its original position. What had she said to herself when she’d first met him? That what she felt for him was something she wanted to savour. They were well on their way towards appeasing their hormones -- and it wouldn’t take much more to push them both to the edge -- but there was much, much more to this than either of them could appreciate at the moment.  

They stood still, willing their breathing to return to normal, although she didn’t think it would ever be normal around him again. “Damn you for being an adult about this.”

His thumb brushed her bottom lip. “You know, you’re very cute when you pout like that.”

She nipped his thumb and took a step back, smiling ruefully. “I take comfort in the fact it appears you are as happy with your decision making as I am.” 

The corner of his mouth tilted up into a grin. “After everything we’ve been through this past week,” he murmured, lifting her hand from where it rested on his chest, “I’m in no mood to screw it up again so soon.” He brushed a kiss against the inside of  her wrist, causing her breath to catch in her throat at the gentle caress. They stood quiet for a moment, forehead to forehead, their fingers linked, as if the spot was a sanctuary, a place made safe by that final expression of apology and acceptance.

Soon, she turned restless, embarrassed by the fervor with which she’d responded to him. “That was quite a feat of athleticism you displayed,” she teased, nodding her head at the couch he'd vaulted to catch her. She grinned up at him, the need for a moment of playfulness strong, if only to cover this ridiculous wave of shyness.

“Now that I'm capable of thinking about it, you wouldn't have gone far.” He cast a pointed glance down at her feet. “Trust me, the gravel out there is sharp,” he muttered.

She cocked her head. “I believe there’s a story in there somewhere.”

“I’ll save it for another time,” he suggested before his eyes turned serious. “It’s been quite a day.”

“But good?” she asked, suddenly overwhelmed by a moment of insecurity.

“Definitely,” he confirmed. He walked her over to the couch, where she sat to retrieve her boots. Several moments of silence passed as Ross collected the glasses from the table and placed them on the bar. “Could we meet up for supper later?”

His voice was low, dark and full of promises. She looked up, her heart giving a hard thump of glee in her chest, and met his eyes across the room. “I wish I could,” she said, pulling her right boot on with a yank. “I’ve a working dinner meeting with our marketing team tonight. As it is,” she continued, settling her foot into her left boot, “I’m running a little late for my afternoon appointments, so I know I’ll be racing to make up time.” She stood, meeting him by the bar and circling her arms around his waist. “This was much more important than any of those.” She rose on tiptoe to kiss his chin. “How about tomorrow?”

He nodded, nuzzling his nose against hers. “I’d like that.”

God, he made her head swim with his nearness. “Somewhere in town? Out in public and everything?” She drew back to look into his eyes. There was a slight shift in his grin, the wall she’d seen earlier beginning to reform in his gaze, and she grew troubled. “Hey,” she murmured, placing her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her palm. “I only suggested it because I thought it would demonstrate the fact I’m not concerned about what people might say about us.”

He nodded, lips pressed tight. “I know,” he acknowledged, covering her hand with his, the calluses on his palm gently rasping her skin. “Thanks for that.” His voice deepened into a baritone purr. “This thing between us…” He paused, brows furrowing with his thoughts. “It’s strong, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Would you have been as angry and hurt by my deception if it wasn’t, Ross?” She knew she was taking a risk by asking the question, but needed to know his answer.

“No,” he said. “No, not at all.” He tucked a curl of her hair behind her ear. “I suppose I want some time to get to know you, and you to know me, outside of the spotlight.” She trembled at the whisper-soft touch of his finger along her cartilage. Does that make sense?”

_ Of course _ , she thought to herself. “Perfectly,” she sighed. “Without it becoming grist for the gossip mill. I agree wholeheartedly.” She brushed his lips with hers, sneaking past when he’d reached for her and started towards the coat rack, fingers linked. “How about my place, around seven o’clock?”

“But don’t you live above your office?” The words had come out in a rush. Ross stopped, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I, uh, seem to remember reading something about that online.”

He looked like a lad with his hand caught in the biscuit tin. She giggled, giving him a squeeze before digging in her bag and extracting a cardkey. “Underground car park. This gets you into the reserved parking level for family and guests.  _ And _ up the elevator to the living quarters.” She tucked it in the front pocket of his coveralls, giving it a pat and felt his chest muscle twitch. “That one is mine, but I'll call my assistant on my way back to town to make arrangements for a replacement.”

He arched a black-winged brow at her. “Think you’ve got this all sorted, don’t you?” he quipped. There was a tenseness around his shoulders.  _ Still uneasy, _ she thought to herself,  _ waiting for the other shoe to drop. _ If she ever got her hands on Elizabeth Chenoweth she’d be hard pressed not to drop her down the mine, right alongside George Warleggan.

Demelza stroked her hand along Ross’s arm. “Not at all,” she said seriously. “I know I still have much to prove to you---”

“---Demelza, please,” he interrupted.

“No, I know I do, Ross,” she insisted. “I hope we can figure this out together.”

“We will,” he assured her, brushing her lips with hers and held her coat for her. She searched his eyes, looking for any signs of apprehension and found none. She smiled warmly as she slipped her arms into the sleeves, then turned in his arms. “Are you okay to drive?”

She frowned up at him. “Why?” The lightbulb went on. “Oh. The whiskey. Yes, I’m fine.”

“Alright then. Until tomorrow.” He drew her close, nearly melting her joints into soup with his kiss.

Who needed whiskey? The man was a menace. As she settled into her car seat, she managed to waggle two fingers at him while he leant against the door jam, eyes smouldering like a panther’s in the sunlight. Her only consolation was their parting kiss appeared to have affected him as much as it had her.

She stopped her car at the bottom of the drive and pulled out her phone.

From: Demelza Carne

To: Verity Poldark   
24/05/2017 13:19   
  
Can I take you up on that cooking lesson? Tomorrow afternoon, perhaps? I’ve got company coming.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross watched her car move down the drive until it rounded the corner before he eased away from the door jam. Little had he known the way things would turn out when he got out of bed that morning. “Well, not like  _ this _ , that’s for damn certain,” he said dazedly, scratching the crown of his head. He all but sauntered into the garage. Springsteen’s “Thunder Road” bounced off the walls of the service area, and he began whistling along with the wail of Clarence “The Big Man” Clement’s saxophone from between his teeth. Paul had come by for Sheila the Mustang while Ross had been talking with Demelza, and had scribbled a brief note by the computer.

_ She sounds great, R -- thanks again for the work! BTW that’s a sweet Rover parked by the house -- a new ride for you? _

An altogether different image snaked through Ross’s head, one he shook violently clear in order to be able to focus for the rest of the afternoon. He looked through his project list and frowned. Between the lingering affects of the whiskey, their parting kiss and the distraction of his overactive imagination, Will Nanfan’s engine rebuild he’d planned to start that day would need to wait until the morning. Or, at the earliest, after supper. Ordinarily, Ross liked to close up shop before supper, but he suspected he’d have a few hours to kill before he was able to sleep.

_ As for now? Might as well work on some paperwork, _ he thought to himself. He hit the switches to secure the overhead doors, turned off the stereo and walked back to the office.

His eyes flickered to the two glasses on the bar. The light coral-pink of Demelza’s lipstick formed a half-moon along the edge of the heavy old-fashioned glass nearest to him. He stopped by the guest bathroom, glancing at his reflection. How funny he should be grinning at about the slight shimmer that graced his own mouth, when only a week ago he’d been furious about it. He picked up the laptop, grabbed a bottle of water, and bounded up the stairs to the loft space above the waiting room.

He’d purchased all new furnishings when he moved into the loft, having sold the townhouse and the majority of its contents within a month after his break with Elizabeth, eradicating all reminders of her or their life together. He’d always gravitated towards the rich cherry and oak of the Arts and Crafts movement. It had cost a fortune, but he hadn’t cared. It went well with the design of the space, was better suited to his personality, and was infinitely more comfortable than the sleek, modern Scandinavian design his ex-fiancee preferred. He’d always been afraid he’d spill something on the stuff they’d shared. The one time he’d got a bit clumsy with the beer up here -- alright, not clumsy, tipsy -- the spill only added to the patina of the leather. Or that’s what he told himself.

He sat in his favorite Stickley chair, flipped open the laptop and got to work. And found himself staring at the same parts order for a solid quarter of an hour before he gave up. He had too much to process in his head for that. He steepled his fingers in front of him and thought about the events of the morning.

Ross had known he would have to get around to clearing the air with Demelza at some point, if for no other reason than to reach a cease fire for the purposes of their respective businesses. Not that he thought her to be the type to pull out of a contract with a local merchant because of something personal, but what did he know about how the way the company managed its contractors? She was the new chief executive, but he’d done enough digging to know she wasn’t the only Carne involved with managing the place. He flipped open the computer, punched “Carnemore” into his browser and hit enter.

He clicked on a link for the company officers. The Carne children had come in stairsteps, one year apart, until her mother’s passing only seven years after Demelza had been born. The website identified four men, all named Carne, all of whom -- he assumed -- were her brothers and holding areas of responsibility for the enterprise. William, the next in line to Demelza, was associate vice president of finance and had held his position since finishing his master’s two years ago. Robert was chief of operations, Edward, chief of marketing and Samuel, chief of administration. The family was a handsome lot, with hair ranging from blond, to brown, black to Demelza’s lovely red. Their eyes, however, had all be similarly shaped. If Ross were a betting man, he’d almost guarantee they were all as changeable as hers. The photograph of her father showed him to be ruggedly handsome, with silver hair, his skin lined and weathered to the color of mahogany.

Ross thought about the information Demelza had shared with him about her family history, which had helped to fill in some of the details the Carnemore marketing team had left off the “about” page of the site. A long line of working class miners who had scrabbled as much capital across generations to invest into their future. He imagined them to have been a gritty, determined lot, willing to set aside personal plans for their earnings in order to grow their savings for their descendants. It had required discipline and patience, from each generation to the next, to see out their goals, and there was much to be admired in that level of tenacity. They weren’t a family to make impulsive decisions on a whim, which anyone with half a brain and a modicum of Google-fu could have figured out within moments. George Warleggan had definitely mismanaged his mark with the Carnes, and ultimately with Demelza.

And what had the Carne men thought about Warleggan? Had they been satisfied by having such a prominent, up-and-coming executive interested in Demelza? What had they done after the man had broken her heart? Did they even know?  _ Probably not, _ Ross thought to himself with a snort. He could picture her refusing to admit anything to anyone, despite the pain she’d experienced. The way Warleggan had treated her was simply not on, ever. And Ross hadn’t forgotten about one of the things she’d said about the breakup: “Along with some other choice words that I won’t repeat”. It didn’t require much of an imagination to think of some of the things he’d said.

Part of Ross wanted to get into his car, drive over to Knox Stanley and throttle that miserable little pissant within an inch of his life. He told himself he wouldn’t go looking for the man, but if that pompous, public-schooled arsehole ever crossed his path he wouldn’t be responsible for what happened.

His finger tapped on the trackpad and a candid shot of Demelza at one of their jobsites filled his vision. She wore one of the signature green Carnemore hardhats, her ginger hair once again worn in a copper-bright, curling tail. Her eyes -- adorned with safety glasses Ross never would have found attractive on anyone other than her -- were cast upwards in the direction of someone’s pointing index finger, her graceful neck arched, a pleasing smile on her face. The image animation shifted, showing her standing with her brothers and father, all of them sleek and professional, in their boardroom. He could look at photos of her all day long.

Their experiences had been so similar: each suffering from heartbreak by a person they’d trusted with their most innermost thoughts and emotions; each holding people at arm’s length in an effort to protect themselves from a similar hurt. He admired the courage she’d shown today, coming here and confronting him on his turf. He thought it spoke to her willingness to tackle things head on, a quality someone in her line of work and burgeoning responsibilities had to have to be a success. It was refreshing and a dramatic change from the passive-aggressive guessing games he’d often had to endure with Elizabeth, whenever he’d had the audacity to get on her wrong side.

Would he have had the nerve to approach Demelza for a reckoning if she hadn’t shown up here on his doorstep today? He liked to think he would, if not today then by the end of the week. She’d been right: coming to a resolution about what had happened simply had to take place, this thing they had between them being as strong as it was. He ran his hand through his hair, the band he’d used for his ponytail winging its way across the room. There was no denying the sexual chemistry between them was off the charts. He honestly felt he should have earned some kind of award for bringing their snogging session to a dull, throbbing and painful halt when all he’d wanted to do was strip them of their clothing and sink into her welcoming body. He thought they would be able to behave themselves over a dinner, but beyond that? He could be a gentleman when he had to be, but something told him that she wouldn’t mind it if he tossed his best intentions out the window.

He was about to head back downstairs for more water (with a side of ice to dump down his boxer briefs) when he heard the bell over the office door chime. “Ross?”

It was Verity. “I’m up here. Can you grab me some water on your way up?” He heard the fridge door open and his cousin’s light footstep on the stairs. “Just attending to some paperwork, cousin. How is your day?”

“Nice try, Poldark.” She tossed the bottle in his direction. “How did things go with you and Demelza? I’ll trade you details for sandwiches.” She waggled a small basket she’d held behind her back.

“Hell, woman, am I not allowed a few secrets in life?” he grumbled. “What kind of sandwiches?”

“Bacon, lettuce and tomato,” she taunted. His favourite, of course. His cousin was mighty, but she was also a foot shorter than he was, so Ross was able to strip her of the booty without too much of a struggle. She pouted. “Since I don’t see any blood on the floor, I’m assuming things went fairly well.”

“You could say that,” he said, his hand closing on the goodness. “Didn’t your new BFF already fill you in on the details?” He tore into the wrapper, sank back into his chair, took a huge bite and groaned with delight. He harboured a little hope that whatever came of their relationship, he could rely upon Demelza for having  _ some _ level of discretion.

“As a matter of fact, she did not, nor did I ask her for any,” Verity said, pride oozing from her voice. She sat cross-legged on the edge of Ross’s bed and unwrapped her sandwich. “She  _ did  _ ask me for a cooking lesson, though.”

He stopped in mid-bite. “She did?” Ross felt stupidly pleased by this. “What’s on the menu?”

Verity shook her head. “It’s a surprise. You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow.” She took a bite of her own sandwich. “I’ve only one piece of advice for you.”

“Only one?” he snorted. “Must be my lucky day.” She threw a packet of crisps at him with a laugh. “What’s that?”

“If you're trying to keep things on the down low, take my car,” she said. “Your Pontiac is as good as a calling card.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued support. It is greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Blessings to Rainpuddle and Sparks. I value your mad beta and Brit-picking skillz, but I cherish the friendship our admiration of the Poldark books and television adaptation has brought our way a thousand times more.


	10. Bedstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> A Modern Romelza AU.
> 
> Definition of bedstone: The granite slab that formed the **foundation** for the cylinder of a Cornish Engine.
> 
> It's time for First Date, v2.0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because the word "bed" is in the title doesn't mean we're heading there. Yet.

_From: Demelza Carne (_ [ _demelza.carne@carnemore.com_ ](mailto:demelza@carnemore.com) _)_  
_24/05/2017 21:37_  
_To: Verity Poldark (_ [ _verity@namparafarmtotable.com_ ](mailto:verity@namparafarmtotable.com) _)  
__Subject: re: Cooking Lesson – change in time_

_Hi Verity – thank you for your flexibility on timing for the lesson! I’ve got a meeting that sprang up unexpectedly tomorrow late afternoon so I’ll only just have time to get everything into the oven before Ross arrives. Come to reception and they’ll send you up to my flat as soon as you arrive. Don’t be surprised when they ask you for your driving licence and number plates from your car – security requirements. Looking forward to it!_

_D_

 

Verity parked her car on the guest level of the underground car park and removed two bulging canvas bags of groceries from the boot. She nearly bounced with anticipation in meeting Demelza here at Carnemore’s twenty-story, high-rise building. _Well,_ she thought to herself, _high-rise for Truro._ Fascinated with the construction of the mining company’s corporate offices since they broke ground nearly eighteen months earlier, she’d yet had an excuse to snoop around the inside. The closest she’d got to wandering into the building was when she’d secured a contract with the coffee shop in the adjacent retail space to feature an experimental sample of Nampara Farm’s sandwiches and snack boxes about two weeks before Demelza had come into their lives. The response was mixed, and Verity had backed away from trying again until she could sort out the kinks.

Not only would she see the inside of the offices, she was going to the residence as well.  Based  on the intel she’d gathered from the internet, the top two floors were reserved for the family. Verity knew the view of the city would be striking from that height.

When she’d read the first part of Demelza’s text she figured they would do it at the cottage. The last sentence, however, had made it clear: “I’ve got company coming.” _Well_ , she’d thought to herself as she looked across the yard towards the garage, _things must have gone well._ A second text about an hour later sealed it:

From: Demelza Carne  
_To: Verity Poldark_  
_24/05/2017 14:39_ _  
_ Does your cousin happen to have a favourite meal? Perhaps something that can be prepared with salt, pepper, and HP sauce using two takeaway containers and a pair of chopsticks?  I’m asking for a friend.

_From: Verity Poldark_   
_To: Demelza Carne_   
_24/5/2017 15:01  
My life, Demelza! You’re serious about the cookware and pantry?_

_From: Demelza Carne_   
_To: Verity Poldark_   
_24/05/2017 15:12  
I told you I envied your cookware, didn’t I? #ashamed #mumwouldbeshamed_

_From: Verity Poldark_   
_To: Demelza Carne_   
_24/5/2017 15:13  
LOL! Well, he’s a fool for lamb stew and strawberry ANYTHING for pudding. Easy peasy._

_From: Demelza Carne_   
_To: Verity Poldark_   
_24/05/2017 15:15  
Sounds good! Just give me a list of everything I need to get and I’ll do it. And I’ll owe you one. Big time._

_From: Verity Poldark_   
_To: Demelza Carne_   
_24/5/2017 15:18  
Tell you what: I’ll get the groceries, you hit the kitchen store. Supply list for everything needed to be sent via email within the hour._

 

She exited the lift at the lobby level, immediately dazzled by the high ceiling with the massive, blown-glass chandelier that sparkled in brilliant copper and teal over the circular reception desk. Huge photos of various aspects of their business were artfully arranged on the walls, providing some of the history and the family behind the company. The same portrait of the Carne family found on their website was featured front and center.

“Welcome to Carnemore, miss,” a voice chirped from somewhere near Verity’s left elbow. “May I help you?”

Verity started. “Forgive me,” she said to the petite blonde with bright blue eyes smiling up at her. The nameplate on the desk read “Amanda Kirkpatrick, Reception”. “Such a lovely space to work in, Amanda.”

Amanda beamed. “It truly is, miss. Is this your first time visiting with us?”

“Yes, it is,” Verity confirmed, setting her parcels down. “My name is Verity Poldark and I have an appointment with Demelza Carne.”

“Oh!” Amanda checked her computer screen. “Poldark, did you say?” Verity nodded, confused. “Ms Carne’s assistant told me to expect you. Please sign and print your vehicle’s number plate at the bottom,” Amanda said, handing Verity a document that titled “Carnmore Residence Access”, “and I’ll need a copy of your identification, thanks.” Moments later, Amanda handed Verity a cardkey. “Go to the lifts to the left. When you get inside, hold the cardkey on the reader and press “R” to go up to the residence.”

Verity tucked the card in her pocket and picked up her bags. “Thank you very much, Amanda.”

“You’re welcome, Ms Poldark. Oh!” the receptionist said, peering over the edge of her desk, her eyes filled with curiosity. “Do you need any help?”

“No,” Verity said, “I shall be just fine, thanks.” She could feel the young woman’s eyes following her as she crossed the lobby. The sooner Verity could get into the lift the better.

The doors were whisper-soft when they slid open on the residence floor, revealing a lovely foyer filled with the sound of jazz piano. A beautiful Waterford crystal vase sat on a pedestal table directly in the center of the space. Verity only had a moment to appreciate the shimmering light reflecting through its facets before Demelza came around the light-washed, stone privacy wall to greet her.

“Verity! I’m so glad you’re here,” she sighed, tension easing from her shoulders. She looked as if she were a teenager, dressed in yoga pants and a t-shirt, her hair in a ponytail worn high atop her head. “We’ve just got the last of the kitchen things from my car.”

 _We? Who’s ‘we’?_ Verity wondered to herself. “I can’t wait to see what you bought. I love going to the kitchen shops, but don’t dare to very often. There’s not enough room in the cottage for everything I’d want, so I will live vicariously through you.”

Demelza giggled. “I didn’t wipe them out, but it was a near thing. And I may have picked up a few extra things, too.” She noticed the grocery bags. “Oh dear, those look ridiculously heavy. Andrew?” she called over her shoulder. “Can you come out here and give us a hand?”

“Right-o, Demelza.” Verity had little time to process this before a man strode around the corner of the privacy wall. He came to an abrupt halt the instant he saw her before nudging his tortoiseshell glasses up his nose with the knuckle of his index finger. “Pardon me, miss. Andrew Blamey, at your service,” he said, extending his hand. The Australian accent made her smile involuntarily. He was quite tall, around Ross’s height, with dark brown hair, streaked with silver, and the loveliest grey eyes she’d ever seen.

She remembered her manners and shook his hand, broad and warm against hers. “Verity Poldark, Mr Blamey, it’s very nice to meet you.”

His eyes didn’t leave hers throughout their introduction and she could feel the colour blossom in her cheeks. “It is nice to put a face to a name, Ms Poldark.”

“Call me Verity, please,” she insisted.

“Only if you’ll call me Andrew.” She nodded and he released her hand, leaning down to pick up both canvas bags. “Do you have anything else in your vehicle that should come up, Verity?”

Oh, mercies, how her name sounded when he said it. “Oh no, n-nothing,” she stammered, willing the heat in her face to subside.

“Very good,” he said before turning to face Demelza. “I’ll take these in and then head down to the office, Demelza. You’ve an appointment with your brother, William, to go over the financials at half past noon.” Andrew nodded at Verity and walked around the corner.

She turned her attention to Demelza, who’d simply stood by, a delicate ginger brow arched over one sea-green eye, a knowing smirk on her face. Verity narrowed her eyes. “So, show me the kitchen, Demelza.”

“This way,” her friend said with a laugh, gesturing towards the wall with her head.

Whatever Verity was expecting to find behind that privacy wall was nothing compared to reality. “Oh, Demelza, it’s beautiful,” Verity moaned. Light, so much light. It flooded in from the wall of windows that ran the length and breadth of the open concept living and dining room. She could see a terrace outside the space, with a view of the city and river just as breathtaking as she’d thought it would be. It was elegantly if not sparsely furnished, as if it were the home of someone who hadn’t quite figured out what style she preferred. She looked a ways past the dining room and stopped cold. A bright, modern kitchen with a six-burner cooker, a double wall oven and a commercial sized fridge met her wide gaze. The broad, black quartz countertop was covered with boxes of All-Clad stainless steel cookware, Le Creuset bakeware, a bright red Kitchen-Aid mixer, a food processor, a crock pot, and a myriad of bowls and utensils.

“And you envy my pots and pans!” Verity turned. “Are you looking for a roommate?”

Both Demelza and Andrew laughed, the latter settling the grocery bags near the sink. “Have fun, ladies,” he offered, giving Verity another glance as he headed towards the entrance of the flat.

The moment the lift chimed its descent, Verity leaned against the refrigerator. “So, tell me about Andrew.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Jesus!” Ross yelped, his hands scrabbling for the cold water knob to adjust the temperature in his shower. “That’s all you need, Poldark: first degree burns on your arse.”  Gingerly, he held out his hand to evaluate the flow and, once satisfying, stepped under to start his ablutions.

He’d had a particularly grimy day down at the garage that day, but that was no reason to scald his bits off.   _Not that you will need your bits tonight_ , he thought resolutely to himself as he sculpted his shampooed hair into a pair of horns. As much as he knew he wanted Demelza -- and God knew, it was a lot -- he was bound and determined not to rush things. Just as he’d said to her yesterday, after everything they’d been through he was not about to screw it up by being a rutting pig. He would simply ignore the memories snaking around the back of his mind of her hands drawing the zipper of his coveralls down...down...and her nails against the skin of his lower back, raising gooseflesh along his flanks as he’d nipped and tasted her lovely throat...his hands, gripping her taut buttocks, drawing her up onto her toes to soothe the ache in his co---

“Dammit,” he growled at the erection all but staring him in the eye. He rinsed out his hair, turned the hot water off and tortured himself with a full minute under the icy, but well-deserved cascade.

He shook his head like Garrick, sending droplets spraying against the glass walls surrounding him before he walked, shivering, towards the sink. A brisk rumple of the towel around his head sent his unruly black hair to cloud around his head and he forced himself to direct his brain towards more general thoughts about the coming evening as towelled off the rest of the water.

He’d done his best to remain chill when Verity returned to Nampara after her trip into town for the cooking lesson, managing to remain in the garage for a full twenty minutes before he wandered his way over to the cottage to scrounge something up for lunch. Verity had been distracted, missing every one of his nonchalant efforts to wheedle information from her. Despite his best efforts, including some rather petulant whinging on his part, she’d finally had enough. “Honestly, Ross!” she’d snapped, glaring at him from over her computer glasses. “You don’t want me knowing all of the ins and outs of your relationship with Demelza. Do you?”

That shut him up.

She was right, of course. As the day wore on, the anticipation of not knowing anything about what awaited him at Carnemore HQ had been quite pleasurable to experience. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone on a first date. Well, that wasn’t necessarily true; he had and hadn’t been on a first date with this woman before tonight, but he did what he could to keep that, as well as the turmoil it had caused, to the side. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that the closer the clock ticked towards seven o’clock, the easier it was to do.

He looked at his reflection and ran a hand along his beard. He’d seriously contemplated shaving it off. He usually grew it out during the late fall and winter -- because why not? -- since he’d been able to grow one. It provided a bit of warmth on those cold, winter days, especially whilst he was working. But he’d abandoned his traditional “first-day-of-spring” de-whiskering ritual this year for reasons unknown to him. God knows he abhorred the thought that he’d kept it because he was joining the whole hipster movement, despite the beard oil that had taken residence amidst the rest of his toiletries. Knowing Demelza’s response to it made him thankful he’d kept it. He grinned at the recollection of the way she shivered whenever his cheek or chin grazed her throat and picked up the little bottle to attend to the rest of his toilette. Twenty minutes later, he slipped Joshua’s old pocket watch into the pocket of his vest, slipped on his jacket and walked out the door.

He listened to Radiohead’s _OK Computer_ on his way into town. It filled the Rover’s excellent sound system with beautiful, angsty melodies that never failed to make him smile. Traffic proved to be light so he found himself approaching the car park with fifteen minutes to spare. He slipped the card key she’d given him from the breast pocket of his jacket, and a sudden memory of Elizabeth performing the same move that evening in the bar after the auction came from nowhere. It rattled him, to the point of causing his palms to sweat. He irritatingly rubbed them together; the last thing he needed tonight was to have his ex-fiancee creeping around his head. “Demelza is _not_ like her,” he said to himself as the gate to the secured section of the car park rolled up to let him proceed.

Demelza had sent him a text with instructions on where to park. In fact, she’d sent a number of texts since they’d seen one another at his place. He grinned over their most recent exchange from the morning.

_From: Demelza Carne_   
_To: Ross Poldark_   
_25/5/2017 11:50  
Well, I don’t think I’ll poison you tonight._

_From: Ross Poldark_   
_To: Demelza Carne_   
_25/5/2017 11:53  
Was there ever a serious danger of that happening? Because we may have to revisit the “no eating out” rule._

_From: Demelza Carne_   
_To: Ross Poldark_   
_24/5/2017 12:01  
Paparazzi vs. morgue. Seems an easy choice to me!_

_Seriously, I happen to know you had spaghetti bolognese last night and that’s my best dish! I needed to have something else in my wheelhouse. The lesson from Verity was very helpful so you will be just fine in my capable hands. ;-)_

_From: Ross Poldark_   
_To: Demelza Carne_   
_25/5/2017 12:04  
Hmmm. I like the last part of that sentence._

_From: Demelza Carne_   
_To: Ross Poldark_   
_24/5/2017 12:05  
I do too. Gotta dash to meetings. See you in a few hours. xo_

He took one last glance in the rear view mirror, scooped up the wine and flowers from the passenger seat and exited the vehicle. The hour was upon them.

~*~*~*~*~*

Demelza jumped when she heard the buzzer from the intercom. God. He was here! She looked around the kitchen where the very first pot of lamb stew she’d ever made sat gently simmering on the cooker, filling the flat with ridiculously delicious smells, and removed the strawberry and almond crumble from the fridge to bring to room temperature. _When you’re halfway through dinner turn the oven on to 200C /gas mark 6 then slide in the crumble on a baking sheet for thirty minutes_ , she thought to herself, remembering Verity’s words from the morning as she pressed the button. “Y-Yes?”

“Hello, it’s me,” Ross’s smooth baritone crackled through the speaker.

“Hi,” she said, barely audible. Her pulse pounded in her throat. “Hi, Ross -- come on up.” She released the button and dashed back to the fridge to pull out the salads, placing them at the table set for two. She picked up the matches she had tucked under the napkin nearest the kitchen -- her seat for the evening -- and lit the candles. Simple white tapers set in clever, interlocking candlestick holders her brother Samuel had brought back from a trip to New York City a year ago. She’d just clicked the remote for the sound system when the chime for the elevator rang. She pressed a nervous hand to her stomach, touched the knot of her chignon and walked around the privacy wall.

The doors to the elevator had just closed behind him, and she was treated to a moment’s glance at the dazzled, boyish expression on his face as he took in the shimmering chandelier above the foyer. He dropped his gaze, all traces of the youthfulness fading when he found her standing very still on the opposite side of the space. He carried a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers in one hand, a bottle of Bordeaux in the other, and looked positively delicious. Dressed in a tweed blazer, dark wash jeans and black leather Chucks, he could have stepped off of the pages of a splashy fashion magazine. His hair was tamed, but barely, as if the stroke or two of errant fingers would send it into a riot. He moved, setting the flowers and wine down on the table near the vase and was in her arms before she could take another step towards him. He kissed her as if they hadn’t seen one another in a month let alone twenty-four hours, and it made her head spin. He released a shuddering breath through his nose, his mouth tasting of mint as she sighed under his kiss, his teeth nibbling her bottom lip before easing back, leaving her breathless for more. “Demelza,” he rumbled, kissing her cheek.

The silky soft stroke of his moustache and beard against her skin made her toes curl. “Ross,” she breathed. _Jesus, who needed food when he smelled good enough to eat?_ She felt her cheeks warm under his scrutiny. “You certainly know how to sweep a girl almost off her feet!”

“I couldn’t resist,” he said softly, “you look lovely.” He touched the nape of her neck, raising gooseflesh along her arms. “I like your hair like this.”

She nervously touched her hair once again and smiled. “Thank you.”

“These are for you.” He handed her the flowers. “A little bird told me you had a vase that would be perfect for them,” he grinned, nodding towards the one in the middle of the console table.

“She was right,” Demelza murmured, burying her face in the sweet smelling collection of blossoms. “Are the lilacs from your house?”

His cheeks turning ruddy. “I believe so, but I had a little help in selecting them.” She raised an eyebrow and he laughed. “Alright, a lot of help. I’m miserable at that sort of thing. But my mother always said it was the thought that counts, right?”

He looked too adorable not to concede. “Well, whoever picked them, I thank you for bringing them to me.” She slipped her hand through his arm. “Welcome to my place.”

They walked through the foyer and around the privacy wall. “Fuck me,” he intoned. Demelza burst into near hysterical laughter. “Sorry! I’m sorry, it’s just…”

“Overwhelming, I know,” she giggled, dabbing tears from the corners of her eyes. “Here, let me get these in water. Please feel free to wander until I get back.” He nodded dumbly, breaking away from her to slowly make his way around the open living room space. She watched him from the corner of her eye while she drew water into a pitcher for the vase before leaving him alone for several moments while she arranged the flowers to her liking. She pulled a couple of sprigs of lilac to bring back to the table and returned to find him standing in the kitchen, a spoon poised over the pot. “Don’t you dare!”

“But it’s lamb stew! My absolute favourite!” He looked up at her, wounded. “Not even a single, solitary sample taste, just to get me through until our meal?”

She pursed her lips to keep from grinning. “Do you want that strawberry and almond crumble for pudding?”

He set the utensil down “I can wait.” He walked over to where she’d stopped, just nearest the table, and took the bottle of wine she’d retrieved from the foyer. “This place is unbelievable, Demelza.”

She coloured once again. “It’s far more than I need, that’s for certain. And I’ve only lived here for...three weeks now, so it doesn’t quite feel like home to me yet. But that will change in time.” She looked about the space. “I love the light and the openness of it, very much.”

“It’s got good bones,” Ross mused, running his hand down the length of her spine until it rested on the small of her back. He turned, giving her another appraising look, this time longer, much more like the big cat he often reminded her of. “Beautiful bones.”

She blushed, fingering one of the pleats in the little midnight-blue shift dress she’d worn for her afternoon meetings. It skimmed just over her knees, a square neckline mirroring the windowpane patterns worked into the design of it. “I’d meant to change out of this into something more casual for tonight, but I’m glad I didn’t.” She smoothed her hand along his lapel. “You look very dapper.” The blue chambray shirt fit him as if it had been tailor-made for him. A triangle of white from the t-shirt worn under it drew her eyes to the hollow of his throat where a tuft of sleek black chest hair tempted her touch. The dark grey, fitted vest made her a little lightheaded, the way it emphasized the width of his shoulders in relation to the narrowness of his waist. The silver watch fob was a surprise, something from another time and place, and she found she liked it very much. She also loved the fact that he hadn’t completely lost some of playfulness of his dress, the Chuck’s making her smile.

She had only to tilt her head to kiss him, the heels of her blue suede Jimmy Choo’s bringing her within an inch or two of his height. She found she couldn’t resist. Several moments later, after a little nose nuzzling, she leaned back to look into his eyes. “Are you hungry?”

It was his turn to arch a wicked brow at her. “Care to rephrase that?” He stroked his thumb along the line of her jaw. “I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

She swallowed. “Rather, I’ve some appetizers on the terrace for us to have before we sit for supper, if you like.”

“That sounds wonderful,” he agreed. “I’ll bring the wine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to all of you who have supported this work thusfar. It really means so much to me. Want to follow along with the things that inspire me? Check out [my Poldark fanfic Pinterest page](https://www.pinterest.com/michelemmmuses/my-poldark-fanfic-dabblings/). 
> 
> Want the recipe for dinner? [Guinness Lamb Stew with Vegetables](http://www.onceuponachef.com/recipes/guinness-lamb-stew-with-vegetables.html#tabrecipe) and [strawberry and almond crumble](https://www.nigella.com/recipes/strawberry-and-almond-crumble). I know. Lamb. I'm sorry. Actually, I think the reason I picked that was something I think I remember from the S1 commentary...that Eleanor didn't like the stew she had to eat. Was it lamb? Dunno... feel free to let me know if I'm mistaken!


	11. Metamorphic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> A Modern Romelza AU.
> 
> Definition of metamorphic: Rock that has had its form changed by heat and pressure
> 
> It's seven o'clock on the 25th.

“Better than Verity’s. But don’t tell her I said that.”

Demelza watched the last spoonful of stew disappear between Ross’s full lips, the corners curled into a smile of gastronomic ecstasy. She hid her smile behind the crisp, white napkin she held to her mouth and did her best to keep from laughing giddily at his enthusiastic response. She lowered the cloth when she felt she could maintain her composure. “I’m not sure how it could be, considering it is the same recipe she says she uses whenever she prepares it. Beginner’s luck?”

He looked at her over the top of his wine glass before tipping it back to capture the last few drops of their second bottle of Bordeaux. “Quite successful,” he stated. The tip of his tongue snuck out to lick his bottom lip where a trace of the wine had clung. _You snooze, you lose,_ Demelza, she thought to herself, pouting. She rather hoped to take care of that for him. “Would you like a little more wine?”

“N-No, thanks, Ross,” she stammered, wondering if he’d noticed her staring at his mouth. The hooded look in his eyes made her think so. “I thought to fix some coffee to go with our pudding, but feel free to have more if you like.”

She rose from the table, leaning over to lift their dinner dishes from the table. “Here, let me take these in.” He stood, scooping the bright white china from the table. “I feel strange sitting there, having you wait on me.”

“Ross, thank you, but you’re my guest tonight,” she insisted. “It’s a beautiful night. How about if you take the wine out to the terrace and I’ll bring the crumble out there.”

He gave her a look she couldn’t quite read, but nodded, handing her the dishes. He brushed her cheek with his lips. “Don’t be long.”

Demelza watched him gather the bottle and his glass and head towards the open doors across from the living room. She set the dishes into the sink and turned on the electric kettle for water for her French press. The last couple of hours with Ross had been an absolute delight. She’d given him a tour of the flat and found herself strangely proud of the space she’d called home for a little over a month. He was a little overawed by the enormous television that took up most of the wall in what Caroline had christened the lounge. He’d chuckled when she told him they’d spent her first weekend in the flat watching period dramas and binge watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. That started a playful discussion about other favourite television shows, films and -- of all things -- comic books. She’d made a mental note to thank her brother William for his annoyingly persistent love for all things Marvel Comics when they were children, for she was able to hold her own during a surprising debate with Ross over the superiority of Thor versus Superman.

It was during dinner that they’d continued their discussion about music, the one that had started on that first ride up to the garage from Wheal Leisure, when he admitted he’d made a point to download a copy of Miles Davis’s _Kind of Blue_ the minute he’d returned home from dropping her off that first evening. She’d goggled at him for a moment. “You know,” she’d observed, picking up a piece of the crusty Irish soda bread Verity had left her to go with their supper, “Miles is a bit advanced for someone who wasn’t much into the genre an hour before.”

“I figured I’d take a crash course,” he’d suggested.

She’d laughed. “What did you think?”

“The truth?” She’d nodded. “It was amazing. I played it three times in a row, and then took it out with me when I went jogging the following morning.”

And, with that, yet another common pastime was discovered. They had both grown more relaxed with one another as the evening progressed, and their conversation shifted accordingly, to the point where they’d shared childhood experiences they had in common, such as losing their mothers at a young age and the loneliness and confusion that had become constant companions for months afterwards. She’d also shared the time when her father had had a heart attack during her second year abroad in South Africa, and how frightened and helpless she’d felt being so far away from everyone. She’d made the almost sixteen-hour flight trip home, tears and anxiety keeping her awake for the duration. It was the incident that would change her life, expediting her rise to the role as chief executive, something that had been in the plans to occur in five to ten years, but was implemented with immediate effect.

Throughout it all, they hadn’t been able to speak without touching, to be silent without glances. In short, it had been perfect.

“Demelza?” His voice cut into her reflections. She grinned when he walked back into view from the terrace. The boyish look she’d seen on his face when he’d first come off the lift was back, more charming than before. “You should come out here. The sky's so clear, the stars are simply brilliant.”

“What about the crumble?” she asked, gesturing at the sweet treat.

He came around the counter, peering into the dish as he slipped his arm around her waist, a new sensation that made her warm inside. “Bring a bowl for two and a wrap,” he murmured, kissing the shell of her ear. “There’s a nip in the air, and while I'll do my best to help to keep you warm, it’s always good to have a backup.” Another kiss, this time on her lips. “In case I get distracted.” He licked his lips and closed his eyes. “Please tell me that this is Nigella Lawson’s recipe. Please?”

“Yes, it is,” Demelza confirmed, giving him a wry look. “I take it you appreciate it because of its creator?” Demelza had watched Lawson’s cooking shows for years and appreciated both her skills in the kitchen, as well as her beauty. Who _wouldn’t_?

He laughed. “Well, you’re the creator of this particular crumble, so I can say yes.” She narrowed her eyes. “Alright, guilty as charged.”

She poked him in the ribs. “Go on, now, and take my coffee cup with you. I’ll be right out.” He winked and did as he was told. Two minutes later, she joined him on the terrace, a big bowl of crumble and ice cream, two spoons and her wrap. She glanced up at the multitude of stars overhead. “Oh, Ross,” she breathed.

“I told you,” he said, taking the bowl from her and setting it down on the high-top table next to him. “It was too lovely a sight to enjoy by myself.” He stood behind her, his arms drawing her against him. She could feel the strength of his muscular torso against her back, his arms circling her waist. “It’s much better shared.” His breath stirred the fine tendrils of hair along the nape of her neck as he nuzzled her, sending shivers along her spine. “You smell divine,” he whispered, kissing the spot behind her ear. “What is it?”

She closed her eyes. “I-It’s Le Labo, Fleur D'Oranger 27,” she managed between the kisses he pressed along the juncture between neck and shoulder. The palms of his hands slowly rubbed her upper arms, warming her and causing goose bumps at the same time. He stepped closer, the rise of his arousal brushing the curve of her buttocks, and she drew away, suppressing a moan. “I think we should have a taste of this crumble, otherwise I’ll develop a complex about my baking skills,” she said lightly as she turned in his arms keeping her eyes from landing anywhere near his.

“Demelza,” he drawled, and she discovered she loved the way he drew middle syllable out whenever he was exasperated. “You shouldn’t be surprised that I should want you.”

The words, spoken in his familiar, rumbling baritone, made her knees weak. She peeked at him. “It’s not that,” she admitted. “As a matter of fact, I think that’s the easier part of this entire thing.”

“The physical attraction, for me at least, was instantaneous.” She nodded in agreement as he took a huge bite of crumble. “Jesus, woman,” he mumbled and moaned at the same time. “This is the first time you’ve ever baked anything?”

“From scratch,” she giggled, taking the spoon from his hand and dishing up a bite for herself. Her eyes rolled up into the top of her skull. “Ohmerghurd.”

He plucked the utensil from her slackened fingers. “You may have to get your own bowl, Ms Carne.”

“Ungrateful man,” she pouted.

“Oh no,” he managed to garble. “I am a _very_ grateful man. But we’re talking about pud, here. Trust me, I don’t share well when it comes to pud.”

He kissed her, tasting of vanilla ice cream and strawberries. She sighed, resigned to the obvious, and went back to the kitchen to get a small bowl for herself, only to return and have him attempt to sneak bites from it, his own bowl now completely empty.

It was as he was running his finger around the bottom of the bowl that he froze. “Wait a second,” he breathed, staring towards one of the exterior speakers on the terrace. “Is that….Radiohead?”

“Of sorts!” she said with delight. “This is Brad Mehldau, one of my favourites jazz artists. He’s done a number of pieces where he’s reimagined classic and modern pop music.”

“I was just listening to Radiohead on my way here,” he marvelled. “This is my favourite song on _OK Computer_.” He wiped his fingers on his jeans. “Dance with me.”

She blinked. “What, you mean here?” she chirped with surprise.

He slid one arm around her waist and tool her other hand in his. “Absolutely.” And then, much to her surprise, he began to glide her around the patio with grace and expertise. He leaned in to kiss her shocked, open mouth before drawing her close to sway with the music.

Demelza _had_ danced with a man before; she hadn’t been living under a rock all of her life. In fact, she’d gone to the Knox Stanley Christmas party with George the first year of his employment and danced most of the evening. He was well-schooled, if not a little stiff and formal. Dancing with Ross was a revelation: fluid, elegant and sensual. The haunting melody wove around them, impossibly reimagined into a thing of ethereal beauty. The song’s fluttering cymbal echoed the rhythm of her pulse. She was moulded to him, the shift and flex of muscle and sinew mirrored between their bodies – well-toned and strong to lean and supple – as he slowly led her around the patio. A song she’d heard countless times before, now transformed into something so indelibly in her mind as only belonging to them both. She rested her head against his chest, the pounding of his heart so close to her ear and his scent, the one she’d become familiar with, now carrying notes of sandalwood, cedar and leather...oh, so intoxicating. The hand at her lower back stroked low, resting on her buttock before resuming its place, holding her fast as heat pooled throbbing between her thighs. All of her senses were overcome in this moment of grace. She raised her head as the song came to an end, slipping her hand free from his to streak up his neck, fisting in his hair and pulling him down for a kiss.

This. This is what she’d wanted from the first moment she’d seen him: scorching heat, trembling hands, hungry mouths, his hands squeezing her, roaming over her as their tongues warred, breath hissing through their nostrils. Her nails bit into his shoulders as he pressed her back against the wall nearest the door, forearms resting on either side of her head. Braced thus, he shifted one leg between her thighs, his muscular thigh coming to rest against her mound. She groaned, grinding against it, to satiate some of the need that centred there, the hem of her skirt now riding over the tops of her stockings. He tore his mouth from hers, savaging her jaw and throat with biting kisses, soothed as soon as they came with the brush of his tongue and beard, before returning to claim her lips. Her breasts ached for his touch, she thought she would die if he didn’t. As if he’d read her thoughts, his right arm shifted, his broad hand cupping her breast at last. The heat from his massaging palm made her knees tremble. He stroked his thumb across her turgid nipple, making her sigh his name into his mouth.

“Demelza,” he growled, his mouth streaking from hers to sample the skin of her throat once again. “So soft.” He nipped her earlobe and her hips moved involuntarily against his thigh, his erection hot and hard against her lower abdomen, making her wish their clothes were off, and he was under her, inside her, his mouth suckling and tonguing her nipple in time with his thrusts. His hand flexed upon her breast, gently massaging her flesh. A great shudder passed through him and, with a groan, he eased back, separating them by inches. His hands held her steady at the hips to stand for several moments, the sound of their laboured breathing arousing by its own right, before he drew her against him.

The clawing need for him drew a moan from low in her throat. It was a sound she’d never heard herself make: primal and ravenous. He pressed his forehead against hers. “I’d kill to have you now,” he panted, “but is that what you want? Now, at this moment.”

“Don’t you?” she wept. She looked up at him, so close it appeared he only had one slumberous,  hazel-black eye staring into hers.

“That should be obvious,” he rasped. “I want to make love to you all night and into the next day.” He kissed her sharp and quick, gentling until they became nuzzling, soothing. “Wanted it from the day I met you,” he murmured against her mouth. He drew back, cupping her cheek in his palm. “But what of our desire for discretion?”

 _Why did he have to be the sensible one?_ she wanted to scream. He was right, of course. Even if he were to stay, it would be best for him to leave before five o’clock, which was about the time that her siblings began showing up at the office. Besides, when they made love for the first time, she wanted to have him all to herself for days, sleeping and waking to lose herself in him over and over again, with no worries over paparazzi, gossip columnists or a family of men demanding answers, as if they were living in the eighteenth century.

She kissed him again, his response drawing full-body tremors from her, and stepped back out of his arms. “Come away with me.”

The words were out before she had a chance to stop them. “Come away with you?” He blinked. “Where?”

“I’m not sure at the moment,” she admitted. She scrutinised him from the corner of her eye. “You have a habit of scrambling my brain whenever I’m near you.”

He chuckled, wincing a bit before cupping her cheek. “Right back at you, sweetheart.” The endearment slipped from his mouth with ease and it made her even dizzier than she’d been moments ago. “Let’s have a seat and think about this.” He motioned towards the living room sofa.

“I’ve a nice bottle of pear brandy from the Pacific Northwest my brother Samuel gave me as a housewarming present,” she offered. “Would you like a little?” He grinned, which she took as a yes, and went to fix their drinks.

He settled back onto the couch, patting the seat next to him. “I promise to behave myself,” he offered when she raised her eyebrows.

She handed him his glass and remained standing. “I’m not sure I can make the same promise,” she said truthfully. 

“Oh, Demelza,” he laughed, capturing her hand in his to draw her down to the couch.

“You think I’m kidding, but I think that was a very near thing.” She nodded towards the now closed doors. Her frazzled nerves gentled under the soft brush of his thumb against the back of her hand, the dull ache of her desire easing, but not dissipating.

The stroking stilled. “Would you rather we call it a night, Demelza?” he asked, startling her from her musings.

She noticed a shade of some of the wariness she’d seen yesterday in his green-gold eyes. “No, not yet.” She took a sip of her drink and tapped her finger on the iPad on the table, turning down the music. “I trust you, I do.” She nestled close to his side, enjoying the warmth of his arm around her shoulders. “And, if I’m honest, attempting to have this conversation whilst sitting in the armchair over there would have made the whole thing feel more like a business transaction, instead of what it is.”

His thumb stroked her upper arm. “And what might that be?”

She blushed, a rather silly thing to do when she’d been ready to drag him to the ground and have her way with him only moments before. “Two would-be lovers planning for their first sexual liaison.”

“One could call it that,” he murmured, brushing her cheek with his lips. “Although, despite what almost happened on your terrace, I’m prepared to say that whenever we finally do spend the night together, it will be so much more than just sex.”

“Agreed.” She leant over to kiss him, before easing back and tucking her feet under her. “And now that the circulation to my head has returned to normal---”

“---So soon?” he teased, eyes sparkling with mischief.

It earned him another poke in the ribs. “What I mean is I’ve come up with an idea.” She traced figure eights on his thigh with her nail. “Have you ever been to Ireland?”

He shook his head. “I’ve always wanted to go, but never seemed to have the time.”

“Our family has a cottage there, in Clifden, County Galway, right on the ocean,” she said, setting her glass down on the table. “It’s in a private community, with a beach, and all kinds of walking trails that would be protected from prying eyes.”

“That sounds wonderful,” he admitted, his voice smooth and smoky. He kissed her shoulder. “Go on.”

She was starting to feel fluttery again. “Well, I-I’m attending a conference next Tuesday and Wednesday in Dublin, so, if you’d like, we could meet at the airport and drive over for a long weekend.”

He pursed his lips. “You’re thinking Thursday through Sunday?” She nodded. “I could do that.”

“Really?” she squeaked, adrenaline sizzling along her veins.

He laughed. _What a lovely sound._ “Really.”

She clapped her hands. “Oh, Ross!”  She hopped onto his lap and slung her arms around his neck, kissing him out of sheer happiness; happiness that morphed to the deepest longing she’d ever held in her heart.

Several moments later, Demelza felt the warmth of Ross’s palm sliding up along her thigh, coming to a halt as it crossed over from stocking to skin. He groaned aloud. “It’s a good thing I didn’t know about these whilst we were on the terrace, or all of my chivalrous best intentions would have gone right over the edge of the building,” he muttered against her lips. “Promise me you’ll wear them when we go away next weekend.”

“I promise. And, perhaps, bring along a surprise or two.”

His eyes glittered dangerously. “I love surprises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me. Working on the rest of the outline already, but this chapter was long enough. I tend to go with 3500-4000 word chapters and I wasn't going to make it through the rest of it within that word count. Anyhow, I should have a good first draft finished by the end of the weekend. 
> 
> Thank you all, so much, for your support!


	12. Thrust-Bearing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> A Modern Romelza AU.
> 
> Thrust-Bearing = well... just read the chapter.

“So, did you have a nice evening?”

Ross’s forkful of omelette hung suspended an inch from his mouth for a full two seconds before he lowered it back to his plate. “Uh...yes, it was very nice,” he mumbled into his coffee cup. He looked at cousin, who was in the act of nailing him a smirking, side-eyed glance. He narrowed his eyes. “Verity.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she offered, holding her hands up in surrender. “And I promised myself I wouldn’t attempt to tease out information about your night.” He nodded, scooping up his rapidly cooling bite of fluffy eggs and cheese. “But--”

His fork clattered to the plate. There was always a ‘but’. “What?” he grumped, tossing his napkin onto the table. He didn’t begrudge his cousin her new friendship with Demelza, but -- at times like this -- it prickled.

“All I want to know is how she did with the recipes,” Verity asked softly. “Demelza’s the first person to whom I’ve ever given lessons, so I’m curious to know if it went well.”

Man, she knew how to get him. The tension in his shoulders eased. “She did brilliantly, Verity,” he said apologetically. “It was a wonderful meal. Thank you for teaching her.” Verity blushed a fetching shade of pink as she giggled with pleasure and pride. It made her brown eyes sparkle with vitality and he wondered, for the dozenth time, why someone hadn’t snapped her up to adore long ago. He was tempted to ask her that very question but, considered it to be hypocritical for him to do so at that particular moment. He finished his omelette in silence before clearing his throat. “Listen, I thought I’d get a head start on the cabinet build for the library tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Verity blinked at him from around her iMac. “I thought we were going work on the reno next weekend.”

He got up from the table to refill his coffee cup, and to give him a chance to sort out the feelings clamouring around in his chest, the foremost being an absurd amount of bashfulness, which annoyed the hell out of him. He’d never been shy or reserved about anything a day of his life. That was before he’d found himself involved someone who called his elder cousin “friend”. Ironic that the very thing he’d done his best to avoid for the last year was now happening, only in reverse order. _Stop waffling and man up, Poldark._ “I’ll be heading out of town for a few days next Thursday.”

“Really? Has something come up with the garage?” Verity asked.

“No.” He turned to find her frowning in concern. “I’m going away for a long weekend with Demelza.” Verity’s mouth formed a perfect O before she snapped her lips shut. “She’s going to be in Ireland for a conference and we thought it was a good opportunity for…” He trailed off, feeling his cheeks burn red.

“Say no more, Ross,” Verity said, getting up to join him by the fridge. “I promise to do my best not to intrude. But can I just say that I’m very happy the two of you are giving it another chance.” She rubbed her small hand between his shoulder blades. “I’m really happy for you.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, cousin,” Ross said, looping his arm around her shoulders and dropping a kiss on her temple. “I need to get things prepped for my rebuild project. Put a list of the materials we need from the hardware store and I’ll swing down when I finish. Shouldn’t be more than an hour.” He gave her a squeeze and set out to the garage.

 _Well, that went better than I’d expected_ , he thought to himself as he walked across the yard towards the garage. He tossed a piece of his muffin into the air, marveling over Garrick’s graceful leap to capture it in his wide mouth. He’d been behaving himself the last few days, only getting into the chickens once since Ross had fortified the coop. The battle for barnyard supremacy between the mongrel and Rufus the rooster continued apace, the last salvo occurring two days before, ending with a badly pecked ear that required a trip to the vet. After hours, of course.

He set down his mug on the workbench and cycled through his iPod, grinning wolfishly when he reached what he wanted. The rat-a-tat of drumsticks on snare and rim ricocheted off the shop walls, and the urgent, impassioned whisper of Michael Hutchence slinked around the corners. “Come over here…”

Ross arranged the tubs, clamps, and fasteners he would need for the 1973 British racing green MGB engine rebuild, whistling the tune from between the small gap between his teeth.

_All you got is this moment...The twenty-first century's yesterday...You can care all you want...Everybody does yeah that's okay….So slide over here….And give me a moment….Your moves are so raw….I've got to let you know...I've got to let you know….You're one of my kind...I need you tonight….'Cause I'm not sleeping….There's something about you girl….That makes me sweat…_

He’d had all kinds of difficulty getting to sleep after he returned from his evening with Demelza. He couldn’t have wished for a more perfect second first date with the woman he’d met at Wheal Leisure almost three weeks ago. The food, the conversation, the music, and the dancing. He’d deny it if asked, but he’d enjoyed dancing ever since his older cousin had forced him to help her as a practice partner. Last night had made all of the summer afternoons rambling around the ballroom at Trenwith when he’d rather have been out fishing worth it. It wasn’t as if he’d not known how Demelza would fit in his arms, but there was something different when it came to dancing that one couldn’t ascertain in a kiss or embrace. She’d followed his lead so effortlessly, her hand warm and delicate in his, the curves of her body against his had left him trembling, the promises he’d made to himself to take things slow nearly shattered the instant she’d dragged his head down to hers and kissed his breath away. He was the more experienced of the two, but he needn’t worry about taking the lead in their explorations. Her uninhibited, earthy response to the chemistry between them thrilled him, and the way she’d arched against his hand when he’d finally cupped her full, firm breast…. He closed his eyes, letting the memories wash through his mind, felt his body tighten and harden, to begin to ache with need.

He blew out ragged sigh. _Makes me sweat_ , indeed.

“Ross?”

He turned at the sound of Verity’s voice calling from the open service bay door. He was very glad of the distraction. “What’s up, Verity?”

She stepped into the garage, tentative in her approach. It made him wonder what new bombshell was about to burst. “Have you spoken with Demelza’s assistant, Andrew?”

 _Random, but whatever._ “He called me yesterday to get some information about the card key Demelza gave me. Seems like an efficient sort of gent,” Ross said, taking a sip of coffee. “Why do you ask?” His eyes widened as Verity’s face exploded in a bright red flush. “Oh ho!” he deduced with a grin. At last, the shoe was on the other foot.

“Ross, don’t tease!” she begged, flapping a hand at him before covering her cheeks.

She really was under distress, the poor thing. He waved her over to join him by the bench and put arm around her shoulder. “When did you have the chance to meet him?”

“Yesterday morning when I went to her flat for the cooking lesson,” she admitted. “I’d spoken with him on the phone before.”

“Really? When was that?” His cousin looked up at him, brown eyes wide with apprehension. “Oh. After the argument.” She snuggled against him. “I wondered who approached whom.”

“I wasn’t trying to pry, you understand,” Verity said gently. “I hated seeing you in so much pain, especially with someone who you’d had such a connection with.”

“Well, if you hadn’t I’d still be right pain in the arse to deal with, so thank you.” He paused. “So, what did you think about---”

“---Andrew,” she said with a blush. “He was very polite when we spoke on the phone, and was quite engaging when we sorted out who we were yesterday.” She nudged a crumpled piece of paper with her toe. “Demelza told me he’s a widower.”

Ross frowned. “That’s too bad. When did his wife pass away?”

“A little over three years ago,” Verity said. Her brows drew together in an expression Ross had seen far too many times in recent months. “Demelza didn’t know everything about the circumstances, but that she’d been killed in a car crash.” Ross shuttered. He’d been called to haul away enough vehicles that had been involved in collisions to make him wish he could decline any future work of the same kind. “He’s been here in Cornwall for a little over a month, and has two children.”

“Wait, what?” Ross asked, giving her a double-take. “Children? How old?”

“Fairly young,” she said quickly. “His son was barely one when they had the accident.”

Ross pursed his lips. “Sounds like a man with a lot of baggage, cousin.”

“Takes one to know one.” She chuckled, punching Ross lightly in the shoulder before she pet the spot. “Demelza said he’s got family in Falmouth, but other than that he barely knows a soul, and thought he could use a friend.”

“A friend, is it?” Ross asked, arching his brow. Demelza? Matchmaking? He wasn’t so sure how he felt about that, and made a mental note to get more information about this man. “Well, be careful, love, and I’ll be here to kick his ass if he steps out of bounds.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Ross, you will not. I’m almost thirty-five years old and perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Now,” she said, cutting off whatever he’d intended to say, “what time will you leave for Dublin?”

“Half past ten,” he said. He clenched his jaw as he remembered the single moment of tension he’d had with Demelza during their otherwise perfect evening together, just as he prepared to leave.

_“What time should I head up to Dublin to meet you?” He pulled out his phone to start looking up flights._

_She peered at the screen and smoothed his lapel. “Ross, let me have the jet fly you up.”_

_His shoulders tensed involuntarily. “I’d rather fly commercial myself.” He snuck a glance at her and found her eyes had darkened, her brows furrowed in the way he’d come to know meant she was hurt. “Demelza.”_

_“But I’m the one inviting you to come away with me for the weekend,” she said, slipping her hands inside his jacket to rest at his waist. The muscles of his stomach quivered as her thumbs ran along his ribcage. “Would you expect me to pay my own way on a trip if you’d been the one to invite me?”_

_He wanted to say that this was different, but the truth was it wasn’t. He’d never expect her to pay for something if he’d been the one to invite her, be it dinner or a holiday getaway. “Touche,” he murmured, stroking her cheek with his knuckle. “You are right, of course. But wouldn’t my turning up at Newquay to board the Carnemore company jet have the potential of drawing attention to us?”_

_“You have a point there, Ross.” She nibbled her bottom lip, frowning in thought. “The conference ends at noon Thursday. Let’s compromise: I’ll get your ticket, and you the rental car?”_

_The playful sparkle in her eyes made him laugh out loud. “It’s a deal, sweetheart,” he said, the endearment tasting soft and mellow on his tongue, enjoying the warm glow the term instilled in her sea-green eyes. “Goodnight,” he whispered, their kiss stirring the embers of the passions they’d fanned all throughout their evening, leaving them both breathless and aching._

_“A whole week away,” Demelza whimpered as he drew back, pressing her forehead against his._

Unfortunately, that week would be spent apart. Ross had work on the farm and garage that had to be finished over the weekend, and Demelza and her brothers would be leaving for Dublin first thing Monday morning. He could hope for more of the playful texts they both liked to send, or perhaps a call at some point, but that was about it. Aside from the reno work he’d promised Verity, he had the quarterly maintenance checks on all vehicles at Wheal Leisure to complete. Considering there were close to twenty-five of the things that required inspection, he would have to manage his time very well in order to finish before his Thursday morning flight to Dublin Airport. Afterall, it wouldn’t do to upset the boss!

He sobered for a moment. He hadn’t really thought too much about the fact he was seeing his -- he paused to count on his fingers -- his boss’s boss’s boss. True enough, he reported to Zacky Martin, who -- in turn -- reported to William Carne, who reported to Demelza.  Would he need to renegotiate the contract, in the interest of fairness? He didn’t think there would be any sort of favouritism or -- depending on the Carne men’s perspective on their budding romance -- retaliatory issues that would arise from it, it was one more thing to consider whenever news of their relationship got out into public.

“Ross?” He shook his head to refocus on his cousin. “I asked if you need a ride to the airport.”

“Oh, well, maybe,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Check back with me in a day or two.”

“What are you up to?” she asked suspiciously.

“Never you mind.” He glowered playfully at her before touching her shoulder. “Now that I’ve had time to think about it, I want to apologize for earlier. I was curt with you about all of this when the truth is it’s good to have a friend to confide in right now. Forgive me?”

He peered down at her with what he knew was his most charming, hang-dog look. She caved. “Oh, alright, you. Apology accepted.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I’ve got a chicken roasting for dinner. I’ll keep a plate warm for you when you get back from town.”

He watched her as she left the garage, happy that he’d been able to set things right with her. She was one of his only allies in the world and he was not in a position to think otherwise, especially since she was kind enough to loan him her car to see Demelza. But that couldn’t go on forever; he would have to find another set of wheels, especially -- as he hoped -- if he would be spending more nights in town with her. And he couldn’t very well drive the Pontiac. He might as well pay for newspaper and radio adverts to announce the news. A new car would put him back several thousand pounds more than he’d anticipated spending at this time of the year.

He picked up his phone, clicking on his banking app to check his savings. And winced. He was just below ten thousand pounds, which was the minimum he wanted to keep there in case of any issues around the business and the cottage.

He slapped himself in the forehead. _The cottage,_ he thought to himself, swiping his thumb across the screen to open his mail app. Verity’s list of items needed for the reno was there and the total made him groan out loud. They might need to put the brakes on replacing the windows and the hardwoods for a few months, but the former could not be put off for long. Not if they wished for the cottage to be habitable this winter.

If he wanted the car, he would have to pursue a loan, which made him groan out loud. Ross hated debt of any kind. His father’s reckless attitude around finances had instilled an almost obsessive desire towards living within one’s means. In the early days, his impulsive decision to raid his savings to build the garage had caused him many sleepless nights, filled with worry. He was thankful he was making enough money to turn a slight profit, but he couldn’t rely on the business being a huge money maker for some time.

He sighed, the decision made. He scrolled through his contacts and found the one he wanted. The caller answered on the second ring. “Pascoe Investments and Loan, Margaret Vosper speaking.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Demelza shifted hanger after hanger of garments along the rack in her walk in closet, her mind in a muddle over what to pack for her trips. Well, actually, the business trip to Dublin had been a cinch to sort out. It was the trip to Clifden that had her bumbling around like an idiot. She’d checked the weather forecasts for twice, changed her mind about her selections at least three times and had only decided on a dress in case they decided to eat out. It was in the back of her mind that there was a good chance they wouldn’t budge from the cozy cottage for the full four days they’d planning to spend together and she would be perfectly content in doing so. She hadn’t been so excited about a trip since her flight to South Africa. It had been a flight away from humiliation and heartbreak. This one…oh, this one was a journey towards a desire she’d not known before, so profound it made her dizzy.

She looked at the pretty, pale pink bags from her shopping trip at Agent Provocateur, grinning as she remembered some of the new pieces she’d purchased. Ross’s thoughts about her stockings had given her all kinds of ideas of things she could buy that would drive him wild, which – in turn – made her return from that trip more roused from a shopping spree than she’d thought possible.

She hadn’t seen him since their dinner date, but had spoken on the phone a couple of times and exchanged their usual teasing, tempting texts. It was a challenge not to leap at her phone whenever it chimed or buzzed during business meetings, especially when he’d taunted her with enticing secrets, like the one that had come in during her supper meeting with Samuel just that evening:

From: Ross Poldark  
To: Demelza Carne   
29/05/2017 19:17   
What do you think of the colour British racing green? I’m asking for a friend.

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Poldark   
29/05/2017 19:20   
It depends. Is your friend planning to paint a car or a library wall?

From: Ross Poldark  
To: Demelza Carne   
29/05/2017 19:23   
Hmm. Sounds like an interesting idea for a library. Will have to run it by Ve…I mean, suggest it to my friend.

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Poldark   
29/05/2017 19:24  
Seriously, what are you up to?

From: Ross Poldark  
To: Demelza Carne   
29/05/2017 19:26   
Prepping for a clutch rebuild, for one, and second, working on a surprise for you when we get back. I miss you.

From: Demelza Carne  
To: Ross Poldark   
29/05/2017 19:29  
Well, I have a surprise for *you* when we meet in Ireland. I miss you too.

 _All of this daydreaming was getting you nowhere_ , she thought to herself and walked into the en suite to put together her toiletries.

She gathered her bottles and pots of cosmetics and shampoos, then tucked an assortment of condoms carefully into her toiletry case. Thank God for Amazon, which had forever made the long, embarrassing trip to the chemist’s for prophylactics a thing of the past. Demelza considered herself to be a forward-thinking woman of the twenty-first century. While she assumed Ross would be thinking along the same lines, she was the one who’d invited him to spend a romantic weekend in Ireland where sexual intimacies were not only assumed, but greatly anticipated. She’d done the same when she started her relationship with George. Between her studies and his ridiculous schedule as an intern, their opportunities for lovemaking had been few and far between, certainly not often enough to justify a prescription for pills.  She remembered he’d had been unhappy at her insistence upon “the bloody things”, but it had been a non-negotiable. After all, they served more than one purpose.

With Ross, though… She’d given some thought of visiting her GP for a prescription, in addition to the condoms, but balked at the last minute, walling off the beginnings of fantasies she had no business building. She couldn’t help it; she hoped, oh she hoped that she’d not been mistaken in thinking this thing between them was not a passing fancy.

She would be smart and sensible about this whole thing, and it would never get underway if she continued shilly-shallying about. “Enough, Demelza,” she said out loud, “time to focus.” She turned on some music and got to work.

It was nearing midnight when she nestled the last of her new, tissue-wrapped purchases into her bag and drew the zipper closed. Her favourite was a definite step up from the soft, oversized t-shirt she’d used as a nighty for years, a comforting old friend. She undressed, pulled the t-shirt over her head and climbed into her bed. “Oh! The alarm.” She turned her phone over to set her alarm for the morning and noticed she’d received an email from Ross. She settled under her covers and clicked her mail app.

 

> From: Poldark, Ross ([ mailto:ross@namparagarage.com ](mailto:ross@namparagarage.com) )   
>  Sent: Monday, May 29, 2017 22:45   
>  To: Carne, Demelza( [ mailto:seeyoudemelza@gmail.com ](mailto:seeyoudemelza@gmail.com) )   
>  Subject: FW: Test Results   
> Attachment: RVPoldark_Results.pdf
> 
> D,
> 
> We haven’t talked about this, but I want to be transparent about my past. Know you can ask me any questions.
> 
> I can’t wait until Thursday.
> 
> R
> 
> From: Enys, Dwight ([ mailto:drdwighte@truromedwest.com ](mailto:ross@namparagarage.com) )   
>  Sent: Monday, May 29, 2017 22:38   
>  To: Poldark, Ross ( [ mailto:ross@namparagarage.com ](mailto:ross@namparagarage.com) )   
> Subject: Test Results
> 
> Got them expedited. All clear!
> 
> Pt reported last sexual activity occurring 2 January 2017. Safer sex precautions taken. Tested 24/05/2017.
> 
> Comprehensive STD Panel Results: HIV (negative), Syphilis (negative), Herpes I (negative) and II (negative), Gonorrhea (negative), Chlamydia (negative), Hepatitis B (negative) and C (negative).
> 
> Signed,  
>  Dwight Enys   
>  Truro Medical Practice West   
>  Infirmary Hill   
> Truro, Cornwall

Demelza sat motionless, filled with emotion and desire for a man she’d known for less than a month, the man to whom she would give herself in less than seventy-two hours. The truth was she wanted him, wished he were lying beside her in this moment. On an impulse, she slid down against her pillows and dialed his number.

He answered on the third ring. “Hi there,” he said, his voice roughened with sleep.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ross,” she whispered, wincing. She could hear the television on softly in the background. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, I’m glad you did.” His sheets rustled. “I meant to ring you, but dozed off in the middle of reading. Is everything alright?”

She loved the sound of his voice. Hearing it now, sleepy and low, made her press her knees together. “Yes, of course, everything is fine,” she replied, her own voice throaty. “I got your email.”

“Aha,” he murmured.

The noise from the television was muted, no distractions to be had. “I wanted to thank you, for doing that.”

“Of course, Demelza,” he said, his smile audible across the line. “It wouldn’t have felt right if I hadn’t. Did you have questions for me?”

“N-No,” she stammered, suddenly nervous. “I mean I supposed I figured, at thirty-one you hadn’t been living like a monk.” He chuckled. “It said January? Was she—“

“—She’s a friend I’ve known since secondary school. What do the kids call it? Friends with benefits?” he asked. “I think there was a time she’d wished for more, but it never seemed to work out.”

“Oh,” she said, a worm of apprehension squirming in her stomach.

“Demelza,” he said, his tone firm and direct. “What I feel for you far eclipses anything I’ve ever felt for her. That I can promise you.”

She released her breath. “Thank you, Ross.”

“Any other questions?”

“Do you want me to get tested, too?” The words tumbled out of her in a rush. “I’m absolutely willing, of course, but I don't know if the results would be back before our trip to Ireland.”

“You don’t have to, sweetheart,” he crooned. “You said it’s been years.”

“Yes, and my GP ran a panel a year after we split,” she confirmed.

“That’s good enough for me.” Several moments of silence passed. “Did you finish your packing?”

“Uh huh.”

There was a long pause. “So, did anything interesting get tucked in there?”

She laughed. “Oh, you’ll just have to wait and see.” She could hear him growl under his breath. “What were you reading?”

“Oh, some positively scintillating nighttime fare,” he quipped. “Instructions for rebuilding a clutch.”

“It took me forever to learn how to drive a stick,” she said, remembering the hours of lessons taught by her father, one of which resulted in a dented fender. “I’ve never understood how those things work, only when to step on it and when to release it.”

“Well, the clutch disc is basically a steel plate, covered with a frictional material that goes between the flywheel and the pressure plate,” he explained. She enjoyed the confidence with which he spoke, although she was certain to have appreciated it more if she understood a word he was saying. “In the center of the disc is the hub, which is designed to fit over the spines of the input shaft of the transmission. When the clutch is engaged, the disc is “squeezed” between the flywheel and pressure plate, and power from the engine is transmitted by the disc’s hub to the input shaft of the transmission.”

She blinked, her ears buzzing. “Whatsiwhosit?”

He barked with laughter. “The issue I have is with the throw-out bearing. Well, here in the UK it’s called the thrust-bearing. Here’s what’s in the book.” He cleared his throat. “‘ _Mounted on an iron casting called a hub, the throw-out bearing slides on a hollow shaft at the front of the transmission housing. The clutch fork and connecting linkage convert the movement of the clutch pedal to the back and forth movement of the clutch throw-out bearing._ ” Was it her imagination or had his voice deepened? Words like “slides”, “shaft movement of back and forth” leapt out at her as he continued. “ _’To disengage the clutch, the release bearing is moved toward the flywheel by the clutch fork. As the bearing contacts the pressure plate’s release fingers, it begins to rotate with the pressure plate assembly. The release bearing continues to move forward and pressure_ —’”

“Ross.” The word came breathlessly past her lips.

“Yes, Demelza?” he whispered, throaty and dark.

She pressed her thighs together. “Is it just me, or—”

“—No.” He blew out a sigh. “I’ve never read something so unintentionally erotic in my life.”

“Seeing your email made me think of what will happen on Thursday.”  She squirmed. “I had such a need to hear your voice when I called.”

“Just my voice?”

Heat to pool between her legs with those three words. “No,” she breathed. She heard him exhale, a grunting sigh as he shifted against his sheets. “I wanted to have you here, next to me.” Her free hand swept under the hem of her t-shirt. “Touching me.”

She moaned as she pinched her nipple, stiff and sensitive between her fingers. “Jesus,” he rasped. “Are you touching—”

“—My breast?” she asked. “What do you think? The one you touched the other night.” He groaned, his breath hissing through his teeth. She closed her eyes as she imagined him taking himself in hand. “Do you sleep in the nude, Ross?”

“Yes,” he ground out. “You?”

She pictured him, golden against white sheets, perfectly sculpted, itching for her touch. “T-shirt,” she whispered, her hand streaking down to the nest of curls shielding her wet folds, dipping her longest finger between the lips of her sex to find her clit, slick and swollen with need. “B-But nothing else.”

“Take it off.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“You can reach us at this number here if you have any difficulties with your rental, Mr Poldark,” the pretty blonde customer service agent chirped as she gave Ross a final, appraising look and handed him the keys for the black 2017 Audi A6 all-road quattro. “Enjoy your stay in Ireland.”

“Cheers,” he said with a nod and headed towards the car park. Moments later, he punched in the cottage’s address into the GPS and eased the Audi out onto the M4 for the three and a half hour drive to Clifden. He wondered about how smart it was for him to drive the sleek, new-car-smelling version of the 2015 model he’d just purchased four days earlier, but what the hell – a guy’s gotta live every now and then.

After he’d bitten the bullet and signed on the dotted line at the bank, he’d begun his search for a new car. Well, new to him. He’d be damned if he were to set foot on Poldark Autos property ever again, so he reached out to some of his contacts in the area. It was Mark Daniel who suggested the perfect vehicle, and took Ross out to meet an elderly couple in Marazanvose. They were part of his hospice group, trying to sell the 2015 Audi that had belonged to their late son, who’d died the year before from lymphoma. The car had been in storage since then. Upon inspection, Ross noticed the young man had been meticulous about detailing the tan leather interior. The couple planned to give the proceeds of the sale to the hospice, which made the parting easier.

The only objectionable thing about the car was the colour: a bright vermillion red that was near blinding in sunlight, but that could be easily rectified. Tune up completed, he and Mark spent the rest of the day sanding and patching it before Mark worked his magic in the paint booth. When it finished curing, he couldn’t have been more pleased: British racing green – as deep and dark as the Forest of Dean, with just a hint of metallic when it was out in the sun. Verity had been his first passenger, giggling her amazement over the transformation as they zipped along the curving roads towards Perranporth. He’d given the car a pat when he’d parked it at Truro Airport that morning, looking forward to surprising Demelza with his purchase.  

He made his way through lunch hour traffic, wishing he’d had his travel companion with him now, as they’d originally discussed. Their plans had changed with an early morning email on Wednesday.

> From: Carne, Demelza ([ mailto:seeyoudemelza@gmail.com ](mailto:seeyoudemelza@gmail.com))
> 
> Sent: Wednesday, 31 May, 2017 06:25
> 
> To: Poldark, Ross ([ mailto:ross@namparagarage.com ](mailto:ross@namparagarage.com))
> 
> Subject: small change of plans
> 
> Ross,
> 
> I finished at the conference early so I’m flying over in a couple of hours to get everything sorted at the cottage. I’m sorry I won’t be with you for the drive over…I just want everything to be put to rights before you arrive. Gate code is 48909# -- I’ll meet you there. Can’t wait to see you.
> 
> Yours,  
> Demelza

 

> From: Poldark, Ross ([ mailto:ross@namparagarage.com ](mailto:ross@namparagarage.com))
> 
> Sent: Wednesday, 31 May, 2017 08:15
> 
> To: Carne, Demelza ([ mailto:seeyoudemelza@gmail.com ](mailto:seeyoudemelza@gmail.com))
> 
> Subject: RE: small change of plans
> 
> Demelza,
> 
> I’ll miss you, but I understand. Anticipation is a good thing, I’m told. See you tomorrow.
> 
> Yours as well,  
> Ross

Now that he’d had time to think about it, the time alone gave him the opportunity to consider how much his life would change in only a few hours. It wasn’t only about the sex. He’d known they had an innate compatibility of passions from the first time he’d kissed her. The phone sex from the other night had been yet another unexpected and thoroughly welcomed revelation into the complex, fiery woman he’d only come to know. He warmed as recollections of their call played around in his mind, the breathy sounds she made as she’d come made him almost desperate to hear again, the next time with all of his senses engaged: the heat of her breath against his neck, the scratch of her nails against his flanks, the taste of her sweat on his tongue, the grip of her body upon his.

He would never think of a clutch assembly in the same way again.

The physical side of their relationship was, truly, the easy part. What tied his guts into knots was the absolute knowledge that he’d fallen head over heels in love with her. He’d been struck dumb by lust before – the start of his relationship with Elizabeth was a perfect example of this. But this was different. It was something he’d recognized from the first moment he’d seen her, spoken to her. It was the reason he’d reacted so viscerally to the mistaken identify revelation, the reason he’d all but cast off his responsibilities and run off for this trip. He loved her. He desperately hoped she loved him, too. And, if she did, would that be enough to bridge the socioeconomic gap that stretched between them? All of this made him fish in his pocket for the antacids he’d purchased at the airport.

He turned his attention to the scenery slipping past the tinted windows. Castles and lakes, and some of the greenest fields and trees he’d ever seen in his life. His phone rang, Demelza’s pretty face filling the screen. She had almost uncanny way to reaching out to him whenever she popped into his thoughts. He tapped the hands-free button on the steering wheel. “Hello, Dee.”

“Hello, Ross.” Her voice filled all nineteen speakers, a warm and welcoming embrace. “How was your flight?”

“Just fine,” he said. “Even got in a bit early, so I’m about an hour ahead of schedule.” She squeaked. He looked at his phone. “Are you alright?”

“Oh yes,” she said cheerfully, “Just need to move my timetable up a bit.”

He chuckled. “I thought this was supposed to be some wildly impulsive weekend getaway, sweetheart.”

“Just because it’s impulsive doesn’t mean there aren’t things to do to make it…” She paused. “Carefree.”

Oh, he liked the sound of that a _lot_. “I see,” he murmured. “Should I stop for some lunch? You get next to nothing on flights any more.”

“Only if you’re hungry,” she suggested. “I’ve something put together for us to eat.”

His heart was pounding in his chest. “I am hungry, but it’s not for food.”

She sighed brokenly. “Hurry.”

“I am. Bye now.” He ended the call, increasing pressure on the gas pedal, a single purpose in mind.

 

Two hours later, he drove along a shell-covered drive towards a large, chocolate brown cottage near the sea. He turned off the engine and stepped out of the car, stretching his arms and back after the long, twisty drive out of the town of Clifden to the secluded location. Smoke puffed from one of the chimneys and a garden of lovely wildflowers in full bloom graced the front of the house. He gathered his bag from the boot and secured the vehicle, the heels of his boots crunching against the shells as he walked up to the slate pavers leading to the covered porch. A note was taped to the teal lacquered door. “Come in, Ross”. Pulse racing with the realisation of what awaited him behind that door, he turned the handle and entered the cottage.

He froze, unable to breathe. Demelza, sheathed in slate grey satin following every delicious curve of her body, stood in the foyer. Her curling, ginger hair flowed in undulating waves over her shoulders.

She mouthed his name.

He dropped his bag and was in her arms.

At last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do. Not. Kill. Me. Otherwise you'll never find out what happens next! :-) 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who supports this work. It means so very much to me, much more than you know right now. Some resources to check out that helped inspire this chapter:
> 
>  
> 
> [When Fact Meets Friction: The basics of clutch operation](https://www.edmunds.com/car-technology/when-fact-meets-friction-the-basics-of-clutch-operation.html)  
> [Some of the interesting things Demelza tucked into her weekend bag, including the satin slip she's wearing at the end](https://www.pinterest.com/michelemmmuses/my-poldark-fanfic-dabblings/)  
> [Nampara Garage playlist. Could be some things they've listened to, and me while writing.](https://open.spotify.com/user/mmmusetunes/playlist/7wb3ujVUEnAo6vsbakfFWo)


	13. At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> A **Modern Romelza Alternative Universe**. Not as has been suggested, an Aidan/Eleanor RPF (just to make that crystal clear to the people in the back).
> 
> NOTE: The rating of this fic has changed to Explicit and will be tagged for specific sexual activity going forward as things arise (pun intended). Consider yourselves warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _At last my love has come along_  
>  My lonely days are over, and life is like a song  
> Oh yeah yeah at last the skies above are blue  
> My heart was wrapped up in clover, the night I looked at you  
> I found a dream, that I can speak to  
> A dream that I, can call my own  
> I found a thrill, to press my cheek to  
> A thrill that I have never known  
> Oh yeah yeah, you smiled you smiled and then the spell was cast  
> And here we are, in Heaven  
> For you are mine at last  
> I found a dream, that I could speak to  
> A dream that I, can call my own  
> I found a thrill, to press my cheek to  
> A thrill that I have never known  
> Oh yeah you smiled you smiled oh and then the spell was cast  
> And here we are, in Heaven  
> For you are mine at last at last, at last
> 
> Songwriters: Harry Warren / Mack Gordon

Demelza heard Ross’s car pull up on the drive, setting a flight of butterflies free within her stomach. _He’s here_ , she thought to herself. She pressed a trembling hand against her abdomen, once again marveling over the smoothness of the satin that covered her from neck to foot. In the front, at least. The air in the cottage felt cool against the open back of the slip, the deep cut scooping low to barely cover the dimples of her derriere. The princess seams down the front of the garment teased nipples already peaked and sensitive from the mere thought of his hands against them.

She’d spent the better part of the last day and a half preparing for what was to come. Removing the dust cloths from the furnishings, setting the kitchen to rights, reviewing the recipes Verity had sent her ordering food and drink for delivery. Making the bed with the crisp, white, one thousand twenty-thread Egyptian cotton linens she’d purchased especially for this trip. Lighting the candles to spread their delicate fig and blackcurrant fragrance throughout the room. Turning on the playlist she’d crafted, down low on the Bose wave system. She was pleased with the end result. Very pleased.

Footsteps leaving shells to slate, her heart skipping a beat. _At last, he’s here and there’s nothing to keep us from anything we desire._ The door opens. _Breathe, Demelza. Breathe._

He stood, wreathed in shadow, tall and strong, a black leather bag slung over his shoulder. He nudged the door closed with his foot, the bag hitting the ground with a thud. Mere seconds to appreciate how handsome he was before he was in her arms, and she in his, their mouths all but savaging one another. She was thankful his arms held her so close, for her knees had given way the moment he kissed her. His mouth left hers to kiss her jaw, her throat, her chin before returning to hers, his rumbling purr and questing fingers sending shivers along her spine.

She was off her feet, cradled in his arms, his eyes smouldering green and gold as he met hers. “Which way?” he rasped. She stared at him, confusion overwhelming her. “The bedroom, Demelza. Please.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, covering her flaming cheeks with her hands. “That way,” she said with a nod of her head. He pressed one hard, fast kiss on her mouth and carried her down the hall.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, his mouth nuzzling her ear as he set her on her feet. “You’re beautiful, so beautiful.” She turned her head to kiss him, her hands stripping him of the elastic he’d used to tie his hair back, the silken, curling strands slipping through her fingers. He tasted of peppermint and black tea and he moaned as her tongue caressed his. “Can’t believe it.”

“Believe it, darling,” she whispered, nervous at the use of the word, thrilled by how his eyes darkened at its utterance. “So happy.”

More kisses, each more fierce than the one before. “Christ, what are you wearing?” he groaned against her mouth, drawing back to look at her, his hands splayed across her lower back. One slipped down to cup and caress her buttock. He kissed her again. “One of your surprises?”

“Y-Yes,” she murmured, biting his lower lip.

“Praise God.” His mouth possessed hers once more, both hands cupping and pulling her tight against him, massaging the firm, full muscles to the razor’s edge between pleasure and pain, his cock rigid against her lower abdomen. She gasped, undulating her hips and was rewarded by his growl. “Where? If they sell these in Truro I’ll empty my savings to buy out the store for you.”

She laughed weakly. “No, it’s from London.”

One hand captured her breast. She moaned as he pinched and rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “When did you have a chance to go there?” he asked, feasting upon her arched neck with his teeth and tongue.

Her knees wobbled again. “While you were busy with your reno. You like it?”

“Like it?” He choked out a dry chuckle. “If I liked it any more I’d be dead.”

“Oh no, no,” she crooned, slipping her hands inside his coat to trace circles on his lower back. The satin fabric of his waistcoat felt lovely under her fingertips. “I have too many plans for you to die now.”

He released her. “Help me,” he begged, throwing off his coat to the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed, his thumb rocketing up the front of his waistcoat to release the buttons. “Why in the fuck did I wear a tie?”

His fingers scrabbled for the knot and she laughed, kneeling between his open thighs and nudging his hands away. “Because this day is important, for both of us,” she murmured.

“You're right, Demelza,” he said, pressing kisses along her hairline, “thank you.” She whimpered as his fingers laced through her hair to massage her scalp, momentarily  distracting her from her task. The tie came free with a tug, the fabric whistling through his collar. She reached for the buttons, only to have him playfully swat her hands away. “I’ll do this if you get my boots.”

She kissed him, sitting back on her haunches to work on the laces. The first came free with ease, but the second was hopeless. It took everything within her not to giggle hysterically as her nails attacked the recalcitrant lace with near desperation.

“Get me some scissors,” he demanded, hauling her up to drop kisses along her jaw.

A giggle escaped her mouth. “No, Ross.”

“Seriously, I will chew through that thing if you can’t get it undone,” he vowed, attempting to move her out of the way.

“No! Now stop!” she laughed, standing or -- rather -- kneeling her ground.  He stopped struggling and she looked up to find him lying back, one arm thrown over his eyes. The rise of his cock was less than a foot away from her mouth. She leaned close, pressing her lips against the well-worn denim that moulded itself around his erection. The heat of him through the heavy fabric was intense and she pressed her cheek against him, overcome by it all.

“You need to stop that,” his voice rasped above her. She raised her head at his moan, to find him staring at her, eyes alight with barely-controlled need. “Or I’ll just keep the goddamn thing on.”

She sat up, once again tugging at the lace. “I will not have you scuffing up these sheets with your boots, Ross Poldark, no matter how much I might want you!”

“Seriously?” he scoffed. “You’d rather we stop now? Rather I not touch you here?” His hand slid down her spine to slip under the rolled edge of her slip to trace his fingertips along the cleft of her ass. “Or taste you here?” His mouth closed on the flesh between neck and shoulder, his teeth and tongue running along to find the perfect spot to mark her.

“M-May have to make an e-exception.” She was panting now, evading his touch to attack the lace once more. Then she would get scissors. A second later, the knot gave way. “Success!” she cried, yanking the boot free and pulling his socks off. He had long, elegant feet, dark black hair dusting the tops and his great toes. She kissed his ankle before rising back to her knees. His eyes, almost black and hypnotic, searched her face, his hands cupping her cheeks before he drew her towards him, kissing her with a gentleness she’d not thought him capable of, so close to the end. It made her throat tighten with emotion as she leaned back. “Ross,” she breathed as she rose from her knees to launch herself into his arms, her momentum carrying them both back against the bed. He rolled, pinning her under his weight for the first time as they lost themselves in their embrace. Deep, lavish kisses that went on for what felt like days as she adjusted to the feel of his skin against her fingers, the crisp, black chest hair she ached to have against her breasts, the play of his muscles as they shifted and bunched against her palms, the tantalizing brush of his full beard against her neck, and the promise of its luxuriant caress between her breasts and her thighs.

“How do….I…. get….this….off of you,” he breathed between kisses.

She smiled. “You’ll have to let me up, sir,” she teased, nipping at his thumb when he stroked her bottom lip. He grinned, rolling off of her to prop himself up on his elbows. His eyes roved over her body, as visceral as his caress. Demelza stood between his open thighs, slipped her index fingers under the straps near her neck and, with an artful tug, let the garment slither down her body to the floor.

“Sweet God,” he whispered, slowly sitting up from his lounging position. It was almost as if he were afraid to touch her. “Are you real?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

“Yes, very much. I need you, please, Ross,” she begged, reaching for his hand. She placed it on her breast, closing her eyes as his fingers contracted, cupped and held her. Skin to skin, at last. It seemed to shake him from his daze, for his eyes met hers as his mouth captured her nipple. She knees nearly buckled and she cried out, her fingers spearing through his hair, cupping his head against her as he suckled, nipped and soothed the puckered flesh under his tongue. His hands raced along her back, buttocks and legs as he moved from one breast to the other, his moustache and beard tantalizing the tender skin between.  His mouth moved downward, sampling the skin atop her quivering abdomen. His nose nuzzled the crest of her mound, his breath whispering through the dark auburn curls shielding her sensitive woman’s flesh just below.

He pressed a final kiss on her left hip before sitting back, once again resembling the big black cat she’d pictured him on so many occasions. His hands clenched her buttocks. “As much as I want to taste you, I want to watch your face the first time you come in my arms.”

She nodded, stepping back to give him space to stand. “I want the rest of these clothes off you. Now.” Her hands went for his belt, the metallic clink of the buckle surprisingly audible over the beating of their hearts. She slid the leather free of his belt loops with jerky movements, dropping it to the floor forgotten. She palmed him through his jeans once again, the flesh under her hand leaping, growing even harder than before. A sense of power flowed through her as he trembled and arched against her touch.  “So hot, for me, yes?” she breathed in his ear, her nipples grazing his chest hair at last and making her grit her teeth with need.

He nodded frantically, pressing his cock against her hand. “Condoms, Dee,” he rasped. “Jacket pocket.”

“Have some on the dresser,” she murmured, unbuttoning his fly. Her hands slipped between the fabric of his boxer briefs and buttocks and pushed both garments to the floor. She was filled with awe, as beautifully sculpted as she’d imagined, his skin a natural olive in tone, dark against fair. “My Ross.” Her index finger followed the trail of black hair along his abdomen before running through the thick forest surrounding his cock. Heavy, magnificent, the glossy head tapping against his lower abdomen with each beat of his heart. “No more waiting, please,” she begged.

“None,” he promised, picking her up, kissing her as he made his way around the bed. He laid her down, stilling her hand when she went to touch him. “Too close, sweetheart. We have the rest of our lives for that, but I need you too much right now.”

She nodded, in full agreement. The flesh between her legs was swollen, as if bee-stung and sensitive, slick with her need. He eased down atop her, kissing her lavishly, wildly, with nothing left between them. His hand slipped between her thighs, but she stopped him. “Too close, too. Want you inside me the first time, please.” She took a foil packet from the nightstand, using her teeth to tear it open.

“Let me.” She watched avidly as he rolled the condom onto himself. “Demelza.” One, muscular leg slipped between her knees, soon joined by its twin. Her legs parted, no apprehension between man nor woman, only blinding need. Sinking into the cradle of her thighs, he thrust once, thrust home. Her body stretched, its initial resistance giving way as he entered her, the walls of her sex easing with welcome until he was fully seated to his root. He stilled, breathing hard, trembling against her, pressing his forehead against hers. “Demelza.”

Never, never would she tire of hearing him say her name, this time in such a low, shaken voice that it made tears come to her eyes. Heart pounding in her ears, she was wound as tight as a bow string, awaiting the slightest movement to sling her free. He eased back, the delicious friction of his body within hers all that was needed for her vision to narrow, go black as she came, clenching around him. She felt airborne, liberated from the bonds of gravity as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her body.

“God, oh God,” he cried, his full weight crushing her into the feather ticking, his hips thrusting hard and fast against her. Mindless, unintelligible words assailed her ears as he arched over her. Demelza drew her legs around his waist, her hands stroking his sweat-slickened back, her need climbing towards oblivion a second time. He lasted for a few strokes more before he stilled, crying out her name in the curve of her neck as he thrust and shuddered within her, his hips rolling in time with hers as she came apart once again in his arms.

~*~*~*~*~

Scents. Music. A cool breeze blowing across overheated skin. The tickle of fingertips along his spine. Ross opened his eyes, his forehead pressed against the crook of Demelza’s neck. He turned his head and saw her pulse beating fast and erratic in her throat. He pressed his lips against it, tasted the salt of her sweat as she purred. “Demelza,” he whispered.

“Ross,” she murmured, drawing out the first letter of his name in such a way that it made him quiver. “My darling Ross.”

More shivers. He raised himself on his elbows to look down into her shining, happy face and shared a deep, lingering kiss. He raised his head, brushed his knuckles against her flushed cheek. “Am I too heavy for you?” he asked.

Her legs tightened around his waist. “No,” she breathed, drawing him back down to kiss. “No, I’ve wanted to feel you pressing me down onto a feather bed for days and days and days. Forever, I think.” She ducked her head. “From the first moment I saw you.”

He had to grin at that. “Really, now?” he said, wriggling a bit to make her sink further into the mattress.

“Yes, I can admit that now,” she giggled. She smoothed a rebellious curl back off of his forehead, tucking in behind his ear. “You were the most handsome man I’d ever seen.”

He felt his cheeks burn. “I’d never seen anyone as lovely as you, sweetheart,” he said gruffly. He kissed her, her fingers sliding up to tangle in his hair. When he leaned back, her smile was radiant as the sun. It made his already full heart come close to bursting. Her feet rested against the backs of his thighs. The muscles quivered at their touch. _Down boy._ “I do need to move, though,” he said. He captured her mouth once more, their tongues tangling leisurely. “To tend to...things.”

“Oh,” she pouted, releasing her hold upon him. He carefully withdrew from her, immediately missing the intimate warmth of her body. He discarded the condom and gathered her close, breathing in the scent of her hair. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m wonderful. You?” He nodded, drawing the sheet over them. It stirred the scent of their lovemaking as it settled against their skin. She looked up at him from where she’d settled in the crook of his arm. “Ross, I think it’s fair to say that it was better than I’d ever dreamt possible.” Her fingernail circled one of his nipples, her smile broadening as it rose in response. “I just knew it would be good between us.”

“It’s never been like that for me before, Demelza. Never." He tilted her head up and kissed her, shifting again until she lay on her back. He propped his head up with his hand to gaze at her, red flame hair tousled across the pillow. He’d left a small mark near her collarbone and hoped it wouldn’t be a problem later. He brushed his knuckles across her breast, her nipple pearling at his touch. “Now that I know I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off of you,” he teased.

She stroked his cheek. “Why on earth would I want that?” she challenged.

 _Challenge accepted, love,_ he thought to himself, gathering her in his embrace. Their nuzzling, playful kisses soon turned more urgent as the flames of their desire were rekindled. His cock stirred against her leg, brushed by the thatch at the apex of her thighs. He vowed he would take his time, this time, and explore every inch of her. He kissed his way down the long column of her neck, curling his tongue around her perfect nipple, suckling and drawing one full, flawless breast before moving on to the other. She had a mole on the slope of her right breast that had driven him crazy the first time he saw it -- their first kiss in the truck. But now, he was tasting it, tonguing it and making her wild.

She squirmed when his mouth left her breasts to move down her abdomen. “Ross, have I told you how much I love your beard?” she sighed.

He smiled up at her from between her breasts. “No, you haven’t.” He stroked his cheek against her stomach before repeating the caress with the other. “Do you like that?” She nodded frantically. “I think I know where you’d like to feel my beard, Demelza.” His hand caressed her inner thigh, which shivered at his touch.

“Y-Yes,” she stammered, “please yes.”

“With pleasure, sweetheart,” he growled, shifting his body down the mattress until he laid his head against her left hip. The scent of her arousal was thick and pungent, the auburn curls damp from before. He pulled her to the edge of the bed, kneeling on the floor between her legs. “I can’t get enough of you,” he murmured, kissing the inside of her thighs and along the edges of her fragrant mound. “This is what you want, isn’t it?” he asked, nuzzling his cheek against her smooth skin, smiling as she writhed.

She nodded frantically. “Ross,” she groaned, her fingers in his hair. “Please, Ross.”

He parted the folds of her sex with his fingers, her clit turgid and flushed with need. He curled his tongue around it, delighting in her moan of delight as he tasted her for the first time. Sea and earth, spicy and delectable, he wrapped his arms around her thighs, burying his head between them as he fed upon her, kissing and caressing her until she stiffened. He looked up the length of her body, his nose nudging her clit, his mouth continuing its worship of her as a blush rosy blush climbed up her chest to her neck and cheeks. She came, showering him with her body’s dew. He moaned, his hand lightly stroking his cock as his tongue felt her quim flutter with her orgasm.

Ross kissed his way up her loose, languid body to her mouth, sharing her taste with her. She returned his kiss enthusiastically, nipping his bottom lip. “Demelza...must have you, now,” he said, his cock, aching with need, pressed and thrusting against her hip.

She opened her eyes to meet his, stroked his cheek. “I want you, too. Let me.”

She pressed him back against the mattress and he stroked the stretch of her ribcage as she reached for a condom. “You’re gorgeous,” she sighed as she ran her fingers along the underside of his cock, causing his hips to lurch off of the mattress.

“Demelza,” he rasped, trembling. She leaned over, kissing and licking the slick glans. “Jesus, please.” She slipped the condom in place and straddled his hips. “This can’t be happening.”

“It is,” she said throatily, drawing her sex against his, bearing down to rub her clit against the underside of his cock. “So hard, feels so good against me, Ross.”

He watched her hips stutter against him as she pleasured herself. _It’s too much,_ he thought wildly to himself. “Please, Demelza, now!” She slowly eased him, inch by tortured inch, into her body. He groaned, profane words mixed with the holy as his hands fisted the sheets beneath him.

She sank down to his root. “Ross, look at us.” He opened his eyes as she began to ride him, her hips rolling and twisting against his, her body squeezing him tight. He caught glimpses of his cock, slick with her honeyed dew, entering and retreating from inside her quim, and it shook him, to the very core of his being. She leaned forward, hands braced on his chest as they moved together as one, hips thrusting and circling. Her nails scored his chest and he didn’t care. She looked like a goddess, her hair a tumbling river of red across her shoulders and down her back. Her breasts bounced temptingly, and he sat up to take one in his mouth while she groaned with delight. She pushed him back down, her sea-green eyes dark. “So close,” she whispered, her movements driving and relentless. “So close, Ross.” He, too was close, the nerves along his lower back and inner thighs tingling the inevitability of his end. His thumbs reached for her clit, so swollen only the briefest of touches were enough to send her over the edge. Their gasps and cries filled the room when her hips bucked, the walls of her body clutching him as he came.

She collapsed atop him, her hair blanketing them as they trembled against each other. Ross ran his hands along her back, slickened with sweat, caressing her full buttocks and thighs. She raised her head from his shoulder and he kissed her, gently, adoringly until they turned onto their sides.

“I think you may be a little stiff come the morning,” he said gently, rubbing her hip.

“You _do_ give a pretty good massage,” she suggested, shifting her right leg from around his waist, breaking the connection they’d had. “I may have to take you up on another.”

They settled back against the pillows, into one another’s embrace, their legs tangling together. Ross reached for the sheet, caught a glimpse at the clock on the nightstand and chuckled. “Holy shit.”

She arched her brow. “What’s so funny?”

“I’ve only been here an hour!” he sighed happily. They laughed, snuggling tight until their mirth subsided. He drew back to look at her, stroking her cheek. “I vow to spend every waking moment in your arms and, better still, inside you.”

“MMmmm...yes, Ross,” she purred sleepily, her jaw cracking with a yawn. She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry! I’ve been up since dawn getting things ready.”

He cuddled her closer, his hand running along her spine. “We’ve had ourselves quite the workout,” he murmured. “Let us nap a while, love, before we see what other mischief we can get into.”

He froze, realising what he’d just said. “Ross? What did you say?” Demelza asked, her once sleepy eyes now wide awake and staring.

 _Cat’s out of the bag now, isn’t it, Poldark?_ Anxiety lit up his stomach and chest, tightening the breath moving in and out of his lungs. He swallowed and drew her close. “I called you ‘love’, Demelza, because...well...I’m in love with you.”

“Y-You love me?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“Yes.” He drew a finger along her pretty jawline. “Have been for some time.” He wished he could read her thoughts, but hoped the fact she hadn’t run screaming from the room yet was a point in his favour.

Her eyes widened with shock. “W-When?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “No, that’s not true. I think it was from the moment I saw you. That’s the reason I was so angry when I learned you’d used someone else’s name when we met. I couldn’t believe that I’d fallen---”

“---Hush,” she begged him, her voice strained with tears.

“Please don’t cry,” he rasped, certain that he’d fucked everything up twelve ways to Sunday. “Look, I didn’t mean to say it so soon, Demelza. The last thing I want is for you to feel rushed, and I’ll understand if this is too much for you right now.” He stroked her hair, blinking to clear the moisture from his eyes. “After what’s happened here, tonight?” He kissed her, had to kiss her before he said anything else. “I couldn’t keep those words walled up inside me if I had a million pou---”

She covered his mouth with her fingers before she captured it with hers in a brief, soft kiss. “Ross,” she breathed. He noticed her eyes were shining with tears. She smiled like the sun. “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last. Thanks to all of you who have supported this work, especially my dear friend, instigator and beta extraordinary, Rainpuddle13. 
> 
> There's more to come, but I need to focus on Nisqually for a bit. I'll be back to this soon....


	14. Spanner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> A **Modern Romelza Alternative Universe.** , explicit and tagged for specific sexual activity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanner = Wrench. Keep on reading.

The clock on the nightstand read half past ten o’clock when Demelza woke in the big bed. The room was dark, and when she stretched out her hand to the other pillow she found only the impression left by Ross’s head. A small, satisfied smile graced her lips as she thought of the last several hours she’d spent with him. They’d been everything she’d dreamt of; more, in fact, and she felt her cheeks warm with remembrance of every kiss, every touch they’d shared. 

She winced when she swung her legs out from under the comforter, laughing quietly to herself. He’d been right about the stiffness. Now all she had to do was talk him into that massage, but she didn’t think it would take much convincing on her part. But first, she had to find him. She slipped her arms into the crisp, white dress shirt Ross had worn earlier. It was a bit less tidy than it had been before they’d all but ripped it off of him. Another memory, another almost disbelieving smile shimmered through her as she padded down the darkened hallway and into the great room. 

There he was, the object of her desire, his head buried in the fridge, his glorious backside, clothed in snug, heather-grey boxer briefs and twitching in time with the music on the radio.

She crept up until she was only a few inches away from him.  _ “If you want my body, and you think I’m sexy, come on honey, tell me so…”  _ she sang, mirth making her sleepy voice waver a bit. 

His head came up, making contact with one of the shelves in the fridge. “Oh, Ross, I’m sorry!” She reached over his shoulder to stabilise the bottles of beer and a block of cheese that wobbled precariously, doing her best not to laugh at the string of obscenities that were being muttered under his breath. She pressed her hand against his naked back, stroking him like a big cat, from the scruff of his neck to the base of his spine, as he stood up to look at her. “Truly, I am sorry,” she murmured. 

His eyes glowed. “Sorry, is it?” he asked, rubbing the back of his skull. God, he was beautiful, sleepy-eyed and tousled, his full lips curved into a half-smile. “What if I’d been concussed or something?” His arms circled her waist, pulling her close. Her fingers splayed across his broad chest, slightly chilled from his foraging. Her pinkies brushed the pebbled nipples and his eyes darkened. “I’d be of no use to either of us, and where would we be?” He kissed her, a nuzzling, nibbling caress of mouth to mouth that grew lush, apple-scented and all-consuming. It was Demelza who’d felt slightly concussed from the experience. 

Moments later, he lifted his head to smile down into her dazed eyes. “Hello, love.”

Her toes curled against the rag rug on the floor under their feet. “Hello, my love,” she murmured. She kissed his chin, noting that he carried the scent of her in his beard.  _ Your turn to be gobsmacked, my lover, _ she thought to herself, drawing him down for another mind bending kiss. Several moments passed before they stood, their breath laboured, foreheads pressed together next to the open fridge, long enough for Ross to shiver. She stroked his cheek with her thumb. “Hungry, aren’t you?”

He nodded, nipping her bottom lip. “And not only for food, however the one won’t be possible without the other,” he said with a wicked grin. True enough, his partially erect cock nudged her mound. She blushed ridiculously, covering her cheeks. “Well, what do you expect when I am confronted with the woman who has consumed my every hour, waking or sleeping, for the last month, clothed only in a partially buttoned dress shirt?” He paused, leaning close. “One that smells like me, is much too large for her and affords me the chance to peer down at the most perfect breasts I’ve ever seen.” His lips captured hers in a biting caress. “Or touched,” he murmured, his hands simply following instructions. Another kiss, longer, more insistent. “Or tasted.”

“I am certainly not complaining, Ross,” she purred, doing her best to remain upright as his thumbs worried her nipples. He kissed her again, his hands shifting to pull her hips against his. “But I’m also in desperate need of food,” she said begrudgingly. Her stomach rumbled to life, as if to prove her point, and he chuckled, stepping back to lean against the kitchen island. She cleared her throat and peered into the fridge. “I have fruit, as you’ve discovered, some yogurt, salad fixings, cheese, and a pot of Bolognese sauce I put together before you arrived. What will you have?” She looked over her shoulder, to find him staring at her legs. “Ross!” she chided.

His eyes snapped up to her face. “Everything?” he offered. She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Demelza, I feel like I could eat a horse. I only had breakfast and a pack of crisps yesterday before you held me hostage with your amorous wiles.”

“My amorous wiles?” she protested. “You’re the one who carried me off to the bedroom the second you walked through the front door!”

He chose to ignore the truth of her statement, reaching past her for the yogurt. “Let’s start with this and go from there.” 

And so they did. A big bowl of thick, Greek yogurt flavoured with honey and berries as they snuggled on the couch in front of the fire whilst the sauce simmered back to life. They talked of how they’d spent their days before arriving at the cabin, Demelza of her conference and Ross of his maintenance work at Leisure. She was amazed at the sheer volume of work he’d been able to accomplish over the course of three days. 

“What all is involved in a tune-up?” she asked around the spoonful of blueberries and yogurt Ross had offered her from their shared utensil. 

He laughed. “Do you really want to know?” She nodded. She knew next to nothing about auto maintenance. “Traditionally, a tune-up includes spark plug replacement, rotor replacement, fuel injector cleaning, a new air filter, a new fuel filter, a new PCV valve and checks on various systems, including fluid levels, ignition, emissions, manifold intake, compression, timing, idle, distributor cap, battery, choke, vehicle computer, belts and safety,” he stated, arching his brow at her shocked expression. He took a bite of yogurt. “Anything that shows wear and tear should be replaced during a tune-up,” he mumbled, covering his mouth as he spoke. “For many cars built after 2014, the on-board computer automatically performs many of the twiddly adjustments we used to have to do manually. So it’s much easier to do these days.” He took a sip of tea. “Add to that the fact that Zacky has them on a more aggressive service schedule because of the heavy tasks they perform, so they tend to stay in decent shape between tune-ups.”

“God, it must have taken you right up until you had to leave for the airport, Ross!” she exclaimed, impressed.

“Well, I had another little project to work on,” he said cagily, “not to mention the time it took to get all of the motor oil out from under my nails.” He grinned. “I was filthy.”

“You’d never know it, darling,” she murmured, giving him a brief kiss before leaving the couch to check on the sauce. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you how handsome you were when you arrived.” His whiskey-warm eyes smouldered in the firelit room. All that had transpired between them that evening overwhelmed her, leaving her blinded by her tears. “So much, Ross. I can hardly put them into words.”

“Dee.” He rose to join her at the cooktop and gathered her in his arms. They rocked back and forth for several moments until she’d stopped crying. “It’s the same for me, too,” he admitted. “I tease and joke because if I were to think too much about it I’d be wrestling you for the tissues, and how manly would that be?” 

She choked out a laugh. “Quite manly, to me.” 

He caressed her damp cheek with the thumb of one hand, turning off the gas with the other. “I’d much rather show you.” He made love to her with hands, teeth and tongue on the soft, down-filled couch, slowly, with great tenderness that once again left Demelza near tears when she reached her peak before falling into a doze in his arms. In time, it was Ross’s stomach that woke them for their second course: a single bowl of spaghetti Bolognese and two glasses of wine. It was near two o’clock before they stumbled back to the bedroom and drifted into a deep, deep sleep.

The next time Demelza’s eyes creaked open the dawn light was easing its way through the gossamer curtains. Ross lay spooned behind her.  _ This is how I want it to be, forever, _ she mused to herself: _ with this man, his warmth comforting, his arm circling my waist, his breathing deep and even against my neck. _ She snuggled back contentedly against him, smiling at the rumbling purr that filled her ears. His hand shifted to cup her breast. “Morning, love,” he whispered, his tongue tracing a mole she had at the nape of her neck. He flexed his hips, his erection nested along the cleft of her buttocks, brushing an erogenous zone she’d had no idea existed for her until now. His breath grew heavy, chilling the damp spot he’d created with his tastes and kisses and raising gooseflesh along her spine. Her need for him, growing from calm to desperation with the slightest of caresses, caused her to arch against him. His hand tightened, tweaking her nipple as teeth nibbled along her trapezius. “Want you so,” he murmured as his hand slid down the middle of her abdomen to cup her sex. “Don’t want to hurt you.” His longest finger slipped between her folds to circle around her tender, swollen clit. “Too much?” 

“No,” she breathed, biting her lip to keep from moaning. Her hand reached, found what she sought. The sound of teeth tearing foil, and she handed him a condom. “Never.”

He took it from her, easing back to slip it on. “From here?” She gasped at his words, nodding frantically.  _ How did he know? _ She didn’t care, arching her back and shifting her leg to accommodate him. He eased into her with a groan, stilling for a moment before he circled his hips, his cock slipping deeper, grazing her g-spot. Her hips stuttered against his. “Slow or fast? Hard or soft?”

“Hard, fast, please, Ross” she panted, her fingers brushing his away from her clit. He grunted, his hand clamping around her hip, panting her name in her ear as he pounded against her, inside her. Her fingers spiraled and fluttered over the stiffened bundle of nerves between the slick petals of her sex. She’d not last long, she knew this as she climbed higher, grew tighter until the spring snapped. “Ross,” she keened, electricity rocketing across her entire body. His hand tightened on her hip and he cried out, thrusting one last time, the pulse of his orgasm echoing alongside her own. 

The sound of their ragged breathing filled the room as they lay together. She felt him, his body resting within hers, beginning its retreat. He turned her, and she whimpered at his withdrawal. “It was too much, wasn’t it?” he asked against her shoulder.

She shook her head, turning to face him. His eyes were dark with concern. “No, Ross, I promise you.” She brushed her lips against his. “I miss you, when you’re not a part of me.” 

He smiled a little sadly before propping himself on his elbow and touched her brow with his thumb. “I did hurt you, didn’t I, Demelza,” he stated. “Look.” His hand stroked her hip, the one he’d held so tight only moments ago. 

She glanced down, making out the light marks from his fingertips and knew they would turn to bruises in a matter of hours, and kissed him. “No, you didn’t, Ross. I wanted your wildness in that moment and you gave it to me.” Her hand covered his where it rested on her abdomen. “I’m not as delicate as you may think, and my desire for you is…” she paused, trying to think of the right word. “It’s bottomless, Ross.”

“Thank you.” He all but sagged against her, releasing the tension she hadn’t realised he’d had coiled within him. “I worry I’ll be too rough on you, Dee” he admitted. “Thanks for reassuring me, but promise to tell me if it’s ever too much.” He kissed her tenderly. “My need for you is bottomless as well.”

She laughed, stroking her hand along his chest. “Good thing we found each other, isn’t it?” He nodded. “I love you, Ross Poldark.”

“And I love you, Demelza Carne.” His mouth found hers once more. “What do you say to another nap, a shower then a run?”

She grinned. “Reverse that order and you’re on.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

They left Clifden by the Beach Road, jogging down the quay towards a monument Demelza said was dedicated to John D’Arcy, who was the founder of the city and whose castle we would see a little ways ahead. It was early enough that they didn’t have to worry about disrupting the casual walkers as they jogged. Ross thought he was in one of the most beautiful places in the world. 

They maintained a leisurely pace; fast enough to keep the heart revved up, but slow enough to allow conversation. As they ran past the children’s playground, they spoke of their childhoods in more detail than they had in times past, revealing tidbits about how their parents treated them and cared for them. The Owenglen River estuary provided a wonderful opportunity to see some of the waterbirds in flight before the path continued along overlooking the Faul Peninsula on one side and an amazing vista over Clifden Bay. 

She looked lovely, her forehead and cheeks glowing from their exertions. He loved watching the way her hair bounced along in its tail as they ran, her long legs sleek and strong in her running tights. They stopped about two kilometres into their run at the Boardwalk Café, enjoying some espresso and muesli before they continued on their way. The temperature of the day had risen markedly since they’d left the cottage, and the pace his new girlfriend set was enough to show her to be more competitive than he’d first thought. By the time they reached the viewpoint on Monument Hill, Ross had leant forward, propping his hands on his knees to support the weight of his torso while he huffed and puffed. 

She stood straight and tall, draining the last of the water from Ross’s water bottle gulp by thirsty gulp. He wheezed out a chuckle, hauling his t-shirt over his head to mop his face. “Hey, red.” She turned to look at him from over her shoulder. “Could you spare a sip for an old man?”

She brayed with laughter. “Oh, Ross.” She trotted over to the water fountain, refilling the container. “‘Old man’, indeed.” 

“I certainly feel like one all but flailing to keep up with you out here,” he muttered. She lightly tossed it to him, coming to stand under his raised arm as he caught it. He took several thirsty pulls from the bottle before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. She snuggled next to him. “I’d warn you off from getting too close to me, but you feel too good. I’m rank.”

Her nose crinkled. “Well, maybe a bit, but I’m not much better.” She kissed his cheek as he swallowed several more gulps of water. “How about if we head back to cottage and hit that shower? It looked large enough for two.” She waggled her eyebrows. 

He shook his head. “Woman, you are incorrigible.” He shuddered as he slipped his disgusting shirt back over his head and bolted. “Race you!” he shouted over his shoulder, laughing at the expletives that she barked in his wake. Thirty minutes later, they stumbled into the cottage’s entryway, giggling as they helped one another out of their running gear and sighing with pleasure as the warm water sluiced over their skin. “Is it possible for a shower to feel any better than this one?” he gurgled, the water delightful against his face, yelping when her hand slipped around his waist to cup his genitals. “Well. Okay, perhaps now.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Would you be terribly upset if I shaved off my beard?” Ross asked, running his fingers along his chin and jaw. 

Demelza dropped her moisturizer into the sink. “Your beard?” she squeaked, her eyes flashing up at her new boyfriend as he stroked the luxuriant black fur in question. They stood side by side in front of the sinks in the en suite, wrapped in bath towels after their shower, which had come to an abrupt halt the same moment the last of the hot water trickled through the pipes. 

His eyes met hers in the mirror, crinkling with humour. “I know you have a fondness for it,” he grinned wolfishly.

“Judas.” She blushed to the roots of her hair. “I-I do, Ross, and not only because of...well, that’s not it.” 

He looked rather surprised by her tone and she checked herself. God knows she didn’t want to sound like Veruca Salt. “I usually shear it off the first day of spring,” he explained, “you’d never have seen it on me if I hadn’t been so lazy.” He leaned back against the shower door. “This has been the first hot day I’ve been out running, and I have to admit the beard was pretty uncomfortable.” 

She knew she pouted; couldn’t help it, really. It was one of the things that had drawn her to him; from the first moment she’d seen him. But if he was physically miserable with it, who was she to keep him from doing whatever he wanted with his facial hair? Would she be as truculent if she’d said she wanted to cut her hair and he’d become grumpy about it? 

She stepped close, running her thumb along his jawline. “Maybe just a  _ little _ trim?” she suggested.

He pursed his lips. “We can try that,” he agreed. “Will do it first thing tomorrow morning.” He squeezed some toothpaste on his electric toothbrush. “It’s a messy process. In the meantime, why don’t you grab my cell off the nightstand and bring it here. I can show you a photo of what I look like without it.” She smiled broadly at that and raced out of the en suite. 

The poor smartphone looked even more battle scarred than it had the first time she’d seen it the day of their disastrous beach picnic. She wondered if he just happened to be hard on the poor thing or if it had earned a few extra drop kicks across the shop floor after he’d learned the news.  _ Why are you thinking about those dark days now? _ she asked herself. More than likely it was because everything that had happened since Ross’s arrival yesterday had been better than a dream, a little too good to be true? She stifled the little whispers of doubt that teased the edges of her mind, the ones she’d feared would return to spoil the happiness being knitted together for the two of them. She walked back into the en suite, turning the phone over in her hands when the lock screen lit up. It was a picture of her, taken sometime near dawn whilst she was asleep, her hair a tousled mess across the pillow. 

“What is it, Dee?” Ross asked, startling her eyes to shift from her image to the one of him in front of her, glossy black hair in damp ringlets, his strong brows furrowed into a worried frown. She tilted the phone in his direction and his cheeks turned ruddy. “I couldn’t help it,” he admitted, stepping close to take the phone from her hands. “You are so beautiful, sweetheart.”

Her heart swelled as he lowered his mouth to hers. The search for the photo was forgotten.

 

They dressed and hopped into the car to start a day of sightseeing with a walk around Market Square in Clifden. Ross turned out to be a very patient man, Demelza surmised, holding several parcels as she dashed into a fourth quaint boutique in so many minutes. After his fidgeting had grown comically unbearable while she vacillated over pendant necklaces for Caroline and Verity at O’Dalaigh Jewellers, she’d took pity on him with a picnic luncheon from Connemara Hamper, along with a recommendation for a lovely, secluded spot to at Ballynahich Castle to enjoy it. They walked along the riverside, engaging in a healthy debate about some of the local politics heating up back at home, including the challenges impacting the NHS, all of which brought the conversation around to the importance of philanthropy in Demelza’s life.

“While we were…apart,” Ross confided, drawing their progress to a halt, “I read some articles about the charitable works you’ve been involved in over the years.”

She grinned, more than a little pleased. “I didn’t know that.”

He looked at her. “Being angry didn’t stop me from trying to find out more about you.”

She gave him a kiss on his chin. “One of the things I’m really looking forward to doing, now that I’m back home to stay, is to spend more time working with the hospice,” she effused, enjoying the sound of their boots against the gravel pathway leading back towards the car park.

Ross smiled a little sadly. “My best mate Mark had a daughter who spent her last months at South West.” 

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, bringing them to a halt with the press of her fingers into the crook of his arm. “How old was she?”

“ Rosalee was four,” he mumbled, his voice pitched low. “She was a precious little thing, so brave throughout everything.” 

Demelza faced him, a realisation blossoming within her mind. “She was named after you, wasn’t she?”

He nodded. “She was my goddaughter.” 

“Oh, Ross.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, her hands splaying across his back. The sweater he’d worn to stave off the chill in the afternoon air was soft against her cheek. “How incredibly terrible for all of you.” 

“Thank you, love.” She could feel him swallow against her temple as he hugged her tight to his body. “It was hard enough for me and Paul, Mark’s brother. I can’t imagine what Mark and Keren went through.” He sighed brokenly. “They were all treated very well by the staff at the hospice, both before and after Rosalee's died.”

“I’m glad,” she murmured, closing her eyes when she felt him press a kiss on the crown of her head. 

They stood in a silent embrace for several moments, their bodies gently rocking in place in time with his heartbeat. The question rested on the tip of her tongue:  _ do you want children? _ This was the first time he’d ever spoken of an attachment to children. Growing up in a large family, Demelza had known she’d wanted to have a family of her own since her own childhood. Whenever she’d allowed herself to ponder the subject – which happened with more regularity than she thought advisable -- she’d wondered if he was one of those individuals who found kids to be enjoyable as long as they belonged to someone else. That was until she’d learned he’d been so cherished by his friends for them to entrust their daughter’s spiritual life into his care. 

Demelza had heard the heartbreak in his voice when he’d spoken of Rosalee’s passing. Was now the time to ask him? Would he think it too soon to speak of the more permanent aspects of relationships, that she was boxing him in with questions about children and the future? She swallowed, leaning back to pose her question only to find him looking out into the distance, his expression unreadable. “Hey there,” she whispered, giving him a squeeze. He dropped his gaze to meet hers, his eyes dark and questing, its intensity rattling her, and caused her heart thud heavily in her chest. “What is it, Ross?”

“Nothing, Demelza.” Whatever had been on his mind seemed to clear the moment she spoke, his mood shifting from serious to teasing in a thrice. “Just losing track of time.” He dug in his pocket for his phone to check. “You know, we’d better head over to the falconry school if we want to make our appointment.”

“No, wait,” she demanded, pressing her hand against his chest. “I want to know what you were thinking just then.” 

“Honestly, can’t a broody man brood every now and then? Don’t forget, you’re the one who wanted to go play with the killer birds,” he teased, kissing her cheek and taking her hand to lead her towards the castle where they’d left the Audi. “I have a bad enough time around the damn chickens at the farm. Now you’ll have me voluntarily hold a chunk of rabbit in my hand while I await the beak and talons of a raptor?” He laughed, his joking tone sounded a shade forced, and she recalled something he’d said earlier:  _ I _ _ tease and joke because if I were to think too much about it I’d be wrestling you for the tissues.  _ It was not the first time she’d encountered this defence mechanism of his.

“Stop right there, Ross Poldark.” She dug in her boot heels, forcing the scowl she knew creased her brow to smooth. It wasn’t hard to do when she saw unfamiliar nervousness flicker in his gaze. She twined her fingers with his, enjoying their strength, remembering the feelings they were able to evoke. “You can tell me anything, darling. Anything at all.” 

“I know, I know,” he acknowledged, shifting his weight on his feet. “I suppose I wanted to ask you a question, but I decided I might be pressing my luck.”

“Your luck?” she snort-laughed, cocking her head. “What on earth are you talking about, Ross?” 

He looked up towards the heavens and took a deep breath before meeting her eyes. “Will you marry me, Demelza?” 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it before Series 3 begins! I know... another cliffie, but you've come to expect that from me, haven't you? :-)
> 
> Thanks to all of you who have supported this work. It's been an absolute delight to write. Many thanks to my fellow plotter in crime, Rainpuddle13. 
> 
> Enjoy series three and we'll see you back here soon!


	15. Top Gear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
>  **A Modern Romelza Alternative Universe.** Explicit and tagged for specific sexual activity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Top Gear = High Gear. Read on.

Silence. It was a silence so immense it seemed to take on form and mass in the air between them. It only served to make the crashing of his pulse harsh and discordant against his ear drums.  _ Say something!  _ Ross thought to himself, stiffening his muscles to keep from shaking.  _ Please, darling, be it yes or no, just don’t leave me in this silence. _

His first thoughts of proposing had stirred into being as he’d woken to find her sleeping next to him. It was the moment of realisation that he wanted to go on waking up next to this woman for the rest of his life; to see her in every stage of life and emotion until he closed his eyes for the last time. That had been the real reason for slipping his phone from the nightstand to take the photo: to remember when he first began to think of the prospect of marrying her.

He’d only considered marrying one other time and had been more disciplined about the asking. Six months of careful contemplation before executing a well-planned, now -- in hindsight -- rather boring scenario for accomplishing the deed. Look how  _ that _ had turned out. Even this time, with this beautiful, fiery woman in front of him, he’d thought of a candlelit dinner, sometime weeks from now: when they’d returned from Ireland, their relationship well established, when he’d been more assured of her acceptance. But less than twenty-four hours after making love for the very first time? Standing by a river near Ballynahich Castle, where a fine mist now fell upon their heads, sparkling off of her long, russet lashes as she stared, incredulously, into his eyes. Of course, it had to be now!  _ Well played, mate, _ he thought to himself. “ _ Rash” or “impulsive” should have been your middle name,  _ not  _ Vennor, you imbecile. _

“What did you say?” 

Her words, barely audible yet jarring enough to rattle him out of his thoughts, caused him to blink hard to bring her shocked, pale face into focus. “I-I asked if you would marry me.” Her mouth opened and closed with shock, like a beautiful, shimmering goldfish in a bowl.  _ Don’t  _ ever  _ tell  _ her  _ that, idiot.  _ “It’s something I’ve been thinking of since I took the picture of you sleeping.” He cupped her face in his hands. “I love you, Dee, more than I thought possible. I never wish to be apart from you, ever again. Please, say yes.” He nearly sagged with relief the moment he’d finished, the words once again out of his mouth. Now it was just a matter of convincing her. 

“But it was only a month ago that we were raging against one another, Ross!” She pulled his hands down to clasp between their chests. “All of that anger, and pain. How could we go from that to a proposal of marriage in four short weeks?”

He shook his head. “We’ve cleared the air, Demelza, so much so that we’re here, now.” He freed one hand to trace the curve of her brow. “We’ve shared the most magnificent night and day. Can you deny that is true?”

“No, of course not,” she murmured. Did she know that she unconsciously leaned into his caress, whenever he touched her? He thought not, but hoped that movement was a positive sign. “It’s been a most perfect day, darling.”

“And since then,” he pressed on, “there hasn’t been a time where you’ve been dishonest with me or disingenuous with who you are?”

“Of course not,” she said, a little fire returning to her expression.

“Then what else is there?” 

She laughed in disbelief. “There are still things we don’t know about one anoth---”

“---Ask me, then,” he quickly interrupted. “Ask me anything.”

“What?” She blinked, her eyes owlish and bright.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Any question you have.” He took a step back, his arms spread wide. “To you, my life is an open book.”

“W-What about my wealth?” she said, glowering at him.  “I recall that was a major issue for you when you first learned who I was.”

He nodded. “Yes, it was a shock, and only one of the shocks that came after learning who you were.” He approached her once more, placing his hand on her shoulder. “But since I’ve done so, and have learned all that you do with that responsibility, I told you it doesn’t bother me. Hell, if anything, it makes me more proud to know you’ve chosen me to be with like we have ever since.” He paused. “My  _ lack  _ of wealth doesn’t bother you, does it?

“No!” she exclaimed, “I told you it never has!” He knew that, of course, although there was a part of him that still couldn’t believe it, but he was determined to trust her with that. She began to pace. “What about the publicity, Ross? I live a fairly public life -- I have to. While the family maintains the majority of Carnemore’s shares, we have offered a small percentage for employees to invest in, should they choose to do so. In any event, once my new position is confirmed, it will only become more so.” She stopped, faced him with her feet planted as if to weather a full frontal assault. “I know how much you abhor being grist for the gossip mill. Are you willing to submit to the probability -- not possibility, probability -- of being Page Six fodder once again?”

He couldn’t keep from frowning at the memories.  _ Bollocks. _ “Well, it’s not a prospect I relish,” he admitted, scratching his head as a sliver of anxiety crept along his spine. “But if it means I’ll have you in my life, for the rest of my life it’s a price I’m more than willing to pay.”

“B-B-But,” she stammered, “you’ve not met my family!” 

“We can do that tomorrow if you wish.” He'd thought she might mention this and had come prepared. He pulled out his phone and selected his Aer Lingus app. “There’s a flight from Dublin to Newquay at five after seven tomorrow night that puts us on the ground twenty past eight. We could go straight to your brother’s house from there.”

His sweet, little goldfish was back. “Seriously?” she mouthed, incredulity etched within every curve and line of her body.  _ God, she is adorable _ , he thought to himself, but he could see the edge of panic in her gaze. The time for flippancy was over. 

He caught her by her shoulders. “What is it, Dee?” he asked softly, his thumbs brushing the skin at her nape.

“How,” she began, swallowing before restarting. “How do you feel about children, Ross?” The question sent a rush of blood through every artery, vein and capillary in his body. “I wanted to ask you about that earlier, but worried that you’d think me too forward, or to be making assumptions about a future with you I had no business entertaining at this early stage of our relationship.” She paused, pressing her hand on his heart and he wondered if she could feel it clamoring in his chest. “It’s important to know this, now. Especially now, given what you’ve asked me.”

He exhaled. “I agree, it is important to know. And I think they’re wonderful, Demelza.” He drew her into his embrace, surprised to feel her trembling against him. “I admit, I want to have you all to myself for a time yet. But the thought of you, growing round with our child.” His hand grazed her low across her abdomen. “I can’t get it out of my mind, and I find I don’t want to.” 

“Ross,” she whispered. He kissed her, needing to feel that connection with her in that moment. Her lips were so soft, so giving against his. He stopped thinking, stopped worrying. Nothing else mattered, except for her. She responded, her fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. The tip of his tongue danced along her upper lip, teasing and tempting hers to play along. He shuddered when she parted her lips at last, sighing against his mouth as they deepened their kiss, despite the rain that fell steadily on their heads. 

He leant back, brushing the tip of his nose against hers. “Dee,” he breathed, pulling her tight against his chest, her head ducked under his jaw. “I want you to be the mother of my children, my partner through life, in laughter and tears, good times and bad, whatever comes our way.”

“Oh, Ross,” she breathed. She raised her eyes to meet his, crystalline blue and sparkling with tears. 

Panic froze him to the spot. “Oh, please don’t cry, my love. You know I can’t bear it when you cry.” He gathered her against his chest once again. “If it’s too soon, or you need time to think about it, you can. I’m not going anywhere but here with you, for always.” He stroked her hair and felt rather than saw her shaking her head under his hand. “No?” he rasped. His heart crashed to his feet. “You don’t wish to?” 

She gave his chest a light slap. “No, you silly man,” she wept. “I don’t need time to think.” 

She raised her shining, smiling eyes to his, hope building where despair had been mere seconds before. “What are you saying, Demelza? Yes?”

She beamed through her tears. “Yes, yes, yes!” 

He crushed her in his embrace, spinning her around as they kissed and laughed for what seemed an age. As he set her back down onto the ground he discovered his own cheeks were damp from his tears. He felt a lightness of spirit he hadn’t known he’d been lacking until that moment. “I love you,” he murmured against her mouth.

“I love you, too, Ross,” she rasped. “You’ve made me so very, very happy.”

“As have you, darling girl,” he said softly. He stroked her cheek. “I hope you like this, but if it doesn’t suit…” He left off the rest of his words, pulling a small, back jewelry box from his pocket. 

~*~*~*~*~

Demelza’s head swam with everything that had happened over the past ten minutes. He’d asked her to marry him! Ross Poldark, the man she’d dreamt of every night since they met, the one who had taken her through every emotion imaginable, from the depths of despair to the heights of ecstasy had asked her to be his wife! His hands shook as he smiled boyishly into her eyes. The hinge on the ring box made a tiny squeak as his fingers opened the lid, revealing a cushion-cut diamond solitaire flanked by two delicate trinity knots on a brilliant platinum band.

“Oh, Ross,” she breathed, the tip of one finger reaching to touch it. “It’s so beautiful!”

“Praise be!” He let out a ragged laugh. “May I?” She nodded excitedly, dancing on her toes as he slipped the ring free and reached for her left hand. “Please accept this small token of my love and devotion for you, and a symbol of the promise I’ve made to you today.” The ring slid into place as if it had been made for her, the fit impeccable. He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss on her knuckles, the inside of her wrist before his mouth met hers.

She sighed against his lips, sliding her arms around his neck. He shuddered, his hands pulling her tight against him. They stood, lost in the sweetness of their embrace and uncaring about the rain that fell all around them until the ardour of their kisses had grown to a fevered pitch. He drew back, his breath heavy against her neck. “This is the second time I’ve found myself kissing you in the rain.” He brushed her cheek with his lips. “I have to say I like this time much better.”

“Darling,” she murmured, snuggling against his warmth. “We’re going to catch our death if we stay out here much longer.”

“We can’t have that,” he said, offering her his arm and steering them towards the castle and its carpark. “Show me again?” he asked after a time. She smiled, holding out her left hand to waggle her fingers, her new ring winking to life, despite the rain. “It looks lovely on you. Just as I’d hoped.”

“When?” she asked, still dazzled by how perfect his choice had been. “How did you manage this?”

He blushed. “When we were at that jewelry shop in Market Square.”

“Where I bought the gifts for Verity and Caroline?” she asked, surprised. “Ross, you were so grumpy and fidgety while I was there, as if you couldn’t wait to have been off!”

“And wandering all over the shop, too, if you remember.” She nodded. “Well, I’d spotted it within moments of arriving at the shop and managed to get the attention of one of the other clerks.”

The memory crystallized in her mind. “I asked to use the toilet,” she said, admiringly. “You are a clever man.”

“I have my moments.” He puffed out his chest, pride in his stealth clearly apparent. “Anyway, as soon as you were out of the picture, I told them what I wanted. I took a stab at the ring size, but they’d spent enough time with you to have a pretty good idea. I slipped them my card and the transaction was finished just before you came back.”

Being in the business she was in, Demelza knew that the “transaction” would have set him back a considerable amount of money. To mention that now would surely spoil the moment, so she tucked it away under lock and key. “I love it, so much,” she said, admiring it once again. “And I love you.” 

They reached the car a few moments later and were buckling in for the drive back when Demelza touched Ross’s arm. “Could we go back there? To the shop, I mean? I’d like to buy our rings there, for the wedding.”

“I’d hoped we would do just that.” He caressed her cheek. “You know, if things had gone well today.”

His hand was warm against the chill of her face and she nuzzled against it. “They’ve gone exceedingly well, kind sir.” 

“The shop is closing in about fifteen minutes.” He kissed her, catching her bottom lip between his teeth to nip. “How about if we go tomorrow, first thing in the morning?” 

She sighed, rubbing the tip of her nose against his. “That will be perfect.”

He grinned and started the car, easing it down the road towards town. “Tonight, I would like to take my fiancee out to supper.” He laughed. “Fiancee!” She felt the word as if it had brushed against her flesh. “I found a place about a half hour from the cottage that I thought you’d like. Great seafood and wines. A little dancing, too.”

“Ross, that sounds perfect,” she said dreamily. 

“It’s a bit fancy, but nothing too formal.” He glanced at her. “Did you bring something?”

She nodded, picturing the outfit in her mind. “I think you’ll like it very much.”

“You mean it’s likely to turn me into a babbling idiot the minute I see it?”

“Possibly,” she laughed. “You’re very cute when you babble.”

He clicked the hands-free button on the steering wheel. A cheerful voice answered. “O’Grady’s, may I help you?”

“Hello, yes, I’d like to make a reservation for dinner tonight.” Her mind drifted while he conducted business, admiring -- not for the first time -- the car he’d rented for their trip. It was sleek and powerful, just like him, and he handled it with grace and great skill. She knew he had a penchant for classic vehicles, but she thought he looked delicious behind the wheel of this very new machine. “Demelza?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, Ross,” she said, giving her head a little shake. “Is there a problem?”

“Not particularly, except the only reservation available is at nine o’clock.” She looked at her watch to discover it was just nearing four. “Is that too late for you?”

“That’s perfect,” she confirmed. “That will still give us plenty of time to visit the falconry.”

“Bollocks,” he muttered, which made her laugh. “I thought I may have distracted you from those things.”

She shook her head. “Not a chance. Besides,” she murmured, tracing circles along his taut thigh. “I’ve some other ideas for how to pass the time after that.”

He grinned at her and unmuted the phone. “Nine o’clock it is,” he said, eyes that promised grand pleasures remaining fixed upon hers. “Poldark...cheers.”

 

They’d spent an hour and a half at the falconry, and despite his initial reticence, Ross took to the sport like a pro. There was something stirring and elemental about seeing him handle the hawks and owls with such confidence, how they would fly to him, perching on his glove as if he’d been doing this for years. By the time they headed home, Demelza was eager to put some of her ideas for passing time until their dinner reservation to very good use.

She stirred from their nap to find Ross sound asleep next to her.  _ Hmmm, now it’s my turn to watch him while he slumbers _ , she thought to herself, an exercise she found every bit as delicious as the admiration she showered upon him whilst awake.  _ Well,  _ she thought as she remembered the fervor of their lovemaking, deepening even now with the promises they’d made,  _ a different kind of deliciousness. _ She propped her head on the palm of her hand, her eyes following the lines of his profile, the long, black lashes feathering against his cheek; the brow, so mobile and expressive, smooth and relaxed. The luxuriant hair creating a halo of curls against his pillow, his full beard soft and sleek as she stroked it with her index finger.

She lay down, resting her head on his shoulder, her left hand rising and falling with every breath he took. The muted daylight drifting in through the diaphanous sheers lit the fire glowing within the new diamond she wore. She turned her hand, this way and that, enchanted by the life such an inanimate object could have. She still couldn’t believe it. They were engaged to be married, to share their lives, joys and sorrows together and she couldn’t be happier if she tried.

She snuggled close as the warmth of his body lulled her back into a lazy, contented doze. Just as she started to drift back towards sleep, his long fingers came up to trace across her knuckles and toy with the ring he’d given her. He gave a rumbling sigh as his head turned to kiss her temple. “Dee.”

“Ross,” she purred, stretching her legs before weaving them with his. “Did you sleep well?”

He nodded, shifting until she lay underneath him while his mouth nibbled along her neck and shoulder. “You know,” he rumbled close in her ear, “I do believe I could be happy lying here with you forever.” She giggled when he tickled her upper chest with his cheek. Her nipple rose against the caress of his hand, turning her giggles into a sigh. “And as much as I would love to stay, our reservation is just under an hour away.” He kissed her. “Is that enough time for us to get changed?”

“Only if you stop doing what you’re doing,” she teased, covering his questing fingers and slipping out of his embrace.

They showered, separately this time, knowing they’d never make it to their table if they were to wash one another’s backs. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Ross had teased when he gallantly offered her the en suite to go first, at the risk of a cold water shower. This worked to her advantage, as she wanted to surprise him when he finished. She laid out some of the other surprises she’d purchased in London, the tissue paper rustling enticingly. She’d been tickled pink to discover Agent Provocateur had an entire line of lingerie called “Demelza” and had splurged on the entire set. The grand total made her groan aloud, but after experiencing Ross’s response to the midnight blue gown she’d worn yesterday, she couldn’t wait to see what he’d do when he saw what she had in store for him.

After she’d finished with the lingerie she slipped on the dress she’d picked out especially for this evening with him. It was a simple, impeccably tailored cocktail dress, made in a beautiful robin’s egg blue. It was form fitting, the satin shimmering with an iridescence when she moved. She smiled, very pleased with the end result.

Now, all she had to do was wait.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Demelza, I should take a look at that hot water heater,” Ross called from the en suite, his voice partially muffled by the fluffy towel he ruffled around his head. He tossed it towards the hamper in the corner of the room, absently running his fingers through his wet hair and digging around in his shower kit for his cologne and hair product. “It should not peter out as quickly as it does.” He detected movement from the corner of his eye and caught sight of Demelza standing in the doorway. 

He felt as if he’d been coshed in the head with a cricket bat. The dress she wore looked as if it had been made for her, the colour turning her eyes to match the waters of Hendrawna Beach: aquamarine with flecks of copper from the rocks just under its surface nearest the cliffs. If the colour hadn’t drawn him in the cut certainly did. Demure in some ways, whilst in others revealing, the cutouts under her bust providing an enticing peek of her ribs, places where he would be able to smooth his thumbs against her skin whilst dancing. Glimpses enough to maintain his attention, as if he needed any assistance with that. Ever.

He looked down to find her long, sleek legs wearing what he now knew would be black silk stockings. She’d all but vowed she would the next time they’d had occasion to dine together. Her outfit was finished with a pair of black pumps that did things to her legs that made him wish to pledge his undying gratitude to Christian Louboutin every day for the rest of his life.  

“Are you about to babble, darling?” she asked. He head jerked up to meet her smiling face, cocked slightly as her fingers fastened the clip of her black pearl earring. “Or have I rendered you speechless.” His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth so he simply nodded. She frowned. “Do I have something on my dress?” she worried, glancing down her body and smoothing the dress along her waist and hips with her hands. He garbled a curse which brought her gaze back to his. “There you are.”

_ Get it together, idiot!  _ “You,” he rasped, shaking his head and clearing his throat. “You took my breath, Dee. And brain and tongue as well.” He walked over to her, the heels of her stilettos bringing them nearly eye to eye. “You were right. I love this dress on you.” She’d piled her hair atop her head in a carefree mass of curls, secured with a teal and black ribbon that made it look as if one tug on its end would send the gingery tresses cascading down her shoulders. “I love you.”

She blushed charmingly. “And I love you.” She leaned forward. “You smell good enough to eat.” His cock had the nerve to twitch with her words, despite all of the lovemaking they’d done over the last day and then some. “I just might when we get home.”

“Jesus, woman,” he groaned, backing away from her. Her eyes flashed down to the towel around his waist, which did nothing to disguise his body’s response to hers. “Out. Out now, otherwise we won’t go anywhere.”

“Would that be a bad thing?” she purred.

“Vixen!” he shouted, smiling at her laughter through the hastily-shut door. “I’ll be out in ten minutes. Wait for me in the living room, alright?”

“Don’t be too long,” she trilled, “I’m hungry!” 

He rolled his eyes towards the heavens, whipped off his towel and glowered down at his phallus. “That’s enough for now, you prat.” He finished his grooming and, opening the door a crack, peered around to see if the coast was clear before moving into the bedroom. His suit had managed not to get too rumpled during the journey, his shirt only requiring the most rudimentary of ironing. He managed to do that without singeing himself, saints be praised. He slipped into his clothes, tying his tie in a perfect Windsor knot (his mother would have been so proud), eased his feet into his dress shoes. One final glance in the mirror made him whistle low, a smile quirking up one corner of his mouth. “Damn, I clean up good.”

He’d pulled his hair back in a ponytail, a few rebellious ringlets of hair escaping at his nape. He’d had the blue suit tailored after he’d split from Elizabeth, the colour being one she’d detested, but he’d adored. It was the only suit he’d kept out of storage, and he’d never worn until that night. He’d received the pocket square from Verity last Christmas, and it made him wonder what she’d think of his proposal. Hell, he knew what she’d say: “A bit hasty, isn’t it?”, her eyes sparkling all the while. He was fairly certain she would understand, taking comfort in the fact he knew she liked his intended very, very much.

Now, her family? Well, he wasn’t so certain. He felt unaccountably nervous at the prospect of meeting the Carnes when they returned to Truro. Would they accept him as a fit partner for the only woman in their family? He snapped his focus on final touches and adjustments until he was satisfied.  _ Enough musings, Poldark. You’ve a lady waiting. _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They had a spectacular evening, dining on succulent Pacific oysters and steamed Killary mussels as they overlooked Galway Bay in twilight. Ross decided on the lamb, which came as no surprise to Demelza, whilst she chose the roast chicken. After dinner, they’d joined two other couples on the restaurant’s tiny parquet dance floor, thoroughly enjoying the selection of romantic tunes the DJ played for them. She’d shivered the first time Ross had taken her in his arms, the thumb of his left hand stroking the skin through the cut out under her breast, just as he’d told her he would when they’d finished their appetizers. Once again, he’d led her around the dance floor, as he had her terrace in Truro, with ease and grace, earning the admiring glances of the other patrons.

When they’d returned to their seats, the lovely waiter who’d served them all evening brought them the restaurant’s featured dessert -- a bowl of their blackberry, pear and ginger crumble, with toasted hazelnuts, creme anglaise and vanilla ice cream -- on a large charger plate with the word “Congratulations Ross & Demelza” written in dark chocolate along the bottom and two spoons. 

_ “Ross,” she breathed. “When did you do this?” _

_ He kissed the knuckle near her ring. “While you were in the shower.” He picked up a spoon, dipping it into the dessert and offering it to her. “I doubt it’s as good as yours, but it will do in a pinch.” It was, indeed, as good, if not better, than the one she’d made, but it didn’t matter. She was sharing it with the man she loved and that was all that counted. _

_ Ross had just given his card to their waiter when the room was filled with the familiar introduction to one of Demelza’s favourite songs. “Ross, can we have one more dance?” she asked. _

_ He was rising from his seat before she could finish her request and led her to the dance floor. Pressed cheek to cheek, hip to hip, they swayed to the sound of Etta James. _

At last    
My love has come along   
My lonely days are over   
And life is like a song oh yeah

At last   
The skies above are blue   
Oh my heart was wrapped up in clover   
First night I looked at you oh yeah

Well I found a dream, that I could speak to   
A dream that I can call my own   
And I found a thrill to press my cheek to   
A thrill that I have never known

At last    
My love has come along   
Oh my lonely days are over   
And life is like a song oh yeah

Well I found a dream, that I could speak to   
A dream that I can call my own   
And I found a thrill to press my cheek to   
A thrill that I have never known

_ The strong hand, pressed low on her back, the scent of him, of cedarwood and cardamom, leather and sandalwood, the emotions of the day and the promises they’d made formed a most perfect bubble of joy around Demelza’s heart, and she was unsurprised by the tears that slid along her cheek.  _

When you, when you smiled   
Oh and then the spell was cast   
Darlin' here we are in heaven   
For you are mine   
At last   
Darlin' here we are in heaven   
For you are mine   
At last

_ He leaned back as the song came to an end, his expression changing from pleasure to concern in an instant. “Dee, sweetheart, what’s the matter?” _

_ She shook her head, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “Absolutely nothing, Ross. It’s so perfect I’m afraid to blink for fear it will all have been a dream. _

_ He kissed her hand, once more, his lips brushing her ring before leaning close to kiss the spot just under her ear. “Let’s go home,” he whispered. _

“Demelza?” 

“Hmm?” She opened her eyes to see his handsome face, the illumination from the dashboard creating intriguing shadows across his features. 

“We’re home, love.” He turned off the engine. “Were you sleeping?”

She shook her head. “Just thinking about our evening, Ross.” She touched his arm. “Thank you, for everything. It was perfect.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” he grinned. He got out of the car and jogged around to her side, opening the door and offering his hand. “I hope it’s not over just yet.” She simply grinned up at him, and they walked into the cottage.

“Nightcap?” she asked when he took her coat from her shoulders.

He removed his jacket and kissed her cheek. “Just the thing, love,” he murmured close to her ear. “I’ll get the fire.”

She poured them both two fingers of a local, peated single malt -- a discovery from their Friday Market ramblings -- while he lit the fire in the hearth. She loved watching the play of his back as they flexed under the satin back of his waistcoat, the copper strands of hair sparking to life as the flames began to crackle. An idea came to mind. She slipped her phone from her clutch and docked it in the Bose system on top of the console table. “Here’s your drink, Ross.” 

“Thanks.” He gave the fire one final poke before rising to his feet and taking the glass from her. They clinked glasses and sipped, the smoky liquor sending a pleasing heat through her veins. 

He set his glass down, reaching for the knot in his tie. “No, wait,” she said, her glass joining his on the mantle and picked up the remote for the music player. She pressed play and Etta James began to croon through the speakers. 

He laughed. “A last dance, my dear?” 

“Why, I thought you’d never ask,” she grinned, stepping into his arms.

Cheek to cheek and hip to hip, as they’d danced at the restaurant, the low light from the fire heightened the intimacy of the moment. Her fingers slowly worked the tie from around his neck, in marked contrast to the trembling urgency of the night before but no less arousing. He kissed her, the stroking of his long thumbs inside the cutouts bolder, reaching higher and more insistent than it had been at the restaurant. He ran the edge of his smooth nail along the lower edge of her areola and she moaned, nipples tightening, as they had earlier when she shivered under a similar caress. 

“Demelza,” he growled against her throat, his teeth and tongue nipping along her pulse point, pinching and rolling her left nipple between his fingers. 

She gasped, fumbling as she slipped the buttons of his waistcoat free, the scrape of his beard against her neck and the pressure of his fingers distracting her from her task. “Never stop,” she murmured as the last button came undone. Her hands slid around his back, nails scratching along either side of his spine. 

His hips thrust in response against hers. “Never,” he vowed, turning her to unlatch the tiny hook at the top of her neckline. The hidden zipper gave a gentle hiss as he pulled the tab down her back, his heated breath stirring the tendrils along her nape. He eased the fabric from her shoulders, gravity doing the rest of the work as the satin dress pooled around her feet. “Sweet, sweet God.”

The delicate, black suspenders that held up her stockings were beautifully architectural in design, the ultra-fine Bobbinet tulle, lace and rouleaux silk binding crisscrossing to create geometric shapes that framed her hips and abdomen. The matching briefs were low-slung, with a teasing open gusset that ended just above the cleft between her buttocks. The seams in her stockings started at her heels, running straight up the backs of her legs. 

“Perfect,” he groaned, his hands tightening on her shoulders before they snaked around her waist to capture her naked breasts. He pulled her tight against him, the rise of his cock insistent against her. “Even in my wildest dreams…” He rained kisses along her nape and shoulders, his hands massaging her breasts, building the desire that centered between her thighs. She turned in his arms, where he tasted and tongued her throat, nibbling on the small bruise he’d left last night near her collarbone, the mark she’d stared at that morning, remembering the hunger that had brought it to life. “Should have asked you, darling.” She shook her head, dragging his head towards hers to capture his mouth, her fingers doing away with the band holding his tail in check. She savaged his mouth, kissing him as she’d wanted from the moment she’d met him, with teeth, lips and tongue, fingers raking through his wild, curly hair. His hands raced up and down her back, and she shivered at their strength as they caressed, squeezed and massaged her. 

She drew back, nipping his full bottom lip and opened her eyes to find his as black as night, his nostrils flaring with each breath, his face slackened with need. “I need you naked, Ross. Now,” she rasped, her fingers making short work of the buttons on his shirt. He shook the shirt and waistcoat free of his arms as she gripped the tail of his belt, running it through the buckle with shaking hands. It whistled as she pulled it from the belt loops, dropping it on the floor before running her fingers up his stomach to chest, his glorious pelt of crisp, black hair threading through her fingers. His nipples beckoned, and she leaned forward to catch first one, then the other between her lips, eliciting a gasp from him as she nipped, then soothed her teeth’s sting with the lavish attention of her tongue. His fingers slid into her hair, untying the ribbon that had kept the mass in place, discovering the few pins she’d used to secure it until he freed it to cascade down her back.

“Dee.” His hands cupped her cheeks, drawing her face up to his for more kisses, gentle and ferocious in turns while hers slid past the waistbands of his trousers and boxers to squeeze his buttocks, the muscles quivering under her touch. He groaned against her mouth, hips grinding against hers. “Back pocket, my love. Hurry.” 

She slipped one hand free to reach into his pocket, smiling as she removed the condom. “Always thinking ahead,” she teased, nipping his earlobe and drawing it into her mouth. “I love you for it, darling.” His hands tackled the clasp and zipper of his trousers. She hooked her thumbs at his waistbands and shoved them down his thighs. He whimpered when she stroked her thumb up the front of his cock. “You are so beautiful, Ross.” Smoother than the satin she’d worn that evening, scorching hot, nudging her hand, eager desperate her caress. “I want to taste you.”

“Jesus Christ,” he moaned, his knees buckling to bring him tumbling down onto the sofa. She followed, kneeling between his legs, her hands running up the heavy muscles of his thighs to spread them wide. She nuzzled him, at the root of his cock, the thick, black nest of hair soft, crisp and fragrant under her nose and mouth. Her thumbs stroked the sensitive skin of his perineum and the cleft of his arse, and the muscles along his inner thighs trembled under her caress. Inarticulate pleadings were flung into the air above her and she raised her head. His face was a study of desire spiralling out of control and she realized he was far past the point for what she had intended this night, experiencing a moment of profound love in acknowledging the fact she’d have the rest of her life to learn all of his likes and dislikes, his wants and desires.

She pressed a kiss on the glistening head of his cock, her tongue tasting the bittersweet essence of him before she stood, hooked her thumbs on the sides of her panties and shimmed out of them. She grinned at his gasp, for she’d worn the delicate garment on the outside of her suspender belt so the latter could be left on, along with her stockings, to frame the russet curls shielding her swollen, aching sex.

“Exquisite,” he moaned, sitting forward on the sofa, his arms wrapped around her buttocks while his tongue dipped and snaked in between the wet, succulent lips to brush against her clit. Her hips rocked involuntarily against him, her fingers tangling in his hair. He drew in a pucker of skin on the inside of her thigh, just to the left of her mound, a jolt of electricity shaking her where she stood. “Wider, love,” he ordered against her flesh. She took a shaky step and shuddered as he pulled her closer against him, feasting upon her. Her own knees threatened to give way and she felt his arms tighten to support her. His tongue stroked and lapped at her clit, her hips stuttering against him until, seconds later, she cried out, her orgasm lashing through and stripping her of all thought. 

They collapsed onto the thick Turkish rug. Ross fell upon her, spreading her wide beneath him, the last tremor of her climax shimmered through her an instant before he thrust, hard and fast, into her quim. “Ross,” she gasped, the suddenness of his entry a bellows stirring the embers of her arousal. “Oh, God, Ross.”

“Wrap your legs around me.” She complied, opening and yielding. His hips whipped against hers, his cock plunging deeper and deeper. “Yours….Dee, I’m yours,” he growled in her ear. “Now, forever.”

“Yes, forever,” she wept, panting his name, over and over again, hooking her heels -- still encased in her black patent leather pumps -- against his thrusting buttocks, the image created feeding the eroticism of the moment. His hand stroked up along her stockinged thigh, his fingers digging into her flesh as their pace increased until he froze, crying out against her shoulder. His testicles contracted against her as he came, surge after surge of his hips. Her orgasm shuddered through her, her quim twisting and squeezing his cock as he trembled against her. With a breathless sigh, the world went black and she knew no more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross became aware of the harshness of his breathing as it echoed in the hollow of her shoulder. He slowly propped himself up on his elbows, his thumbs tracing the curve of her brow and marveling at how his life had changed, so profoundly, all because of the woman who lay under him, cradling him within her, the tiny shivers of her orgasm receding with every beat of her heart. He wished never to move again, and made to withdraw only to have her tighten her legs around his waist. “Demelza,” he murmured, kissing her throat. 

“Don’t go,” she pleaded. “Stay, darling.” She squeezed him from inside, her quim undulating against his softening cock, so sensitive from their lovemaking. He held back a groan, the silken stroke of her inner walls against him delicious, and he closed his eyes with pleasure at her intimate caress. 

He knew he needed to move. Before he could change his mind, he slipped free from her body and froze. “Oh, Jesus,” he whispered, his heart hammering against his chest. 

“Ross?” she sighed, stroking his cheek, the silk of her stocking crackling against the hair on his thigh. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, God. I’m sorry, Demelza,” he croaked, shifting to lie on the carpet beside her, throwing an arm over his eyes. 

“Ross?” Her voice was urgent, a note of fear. She fit her body against the curve of his own. “What’s happened?”

He moved his arm to gather her close, searching her eyes. “Darling, the condom slipped.” She blinked at him, uncomprehendingly. “It spilled.”

“Oh,” she breathed, her expression blank with shock. Several moments passed where she continued to stare at him, and the guilt gnawed at his guts. “How b-bad was it?”

“Bad enough.” He reached up to drag a pillow and the crocheted throw from the sofa, tucking the pillow under her head and covering them both. He propped his head on his hand, peering down at her and prepared for her tears. “What are you thinking, Dee?”

She blinked once more, her attention focused on a location somewhere over his shoulder. “I was trying to think of where I am in my cycle.” His hand sought hers under the blanket, linking their fingers where they rested against her abdomen. “I think it’s going to be alright, but it’s close.” 

He massaged his forehead, tense from the worried furrow that felt etched into permanence on his brow, knowing he had to meet her eyes when he spoke the words on the tip of his tongue. “If...If it did happen,” he murmured, tracing the line of her lovely jaw with his fingers, “what would you do?”

It was as if his words had snapped her from wherever she’d gone when he’d given her the news. “What would  _ we _ do,” she corrected, her hand reaching up to stroke his cheek. “We’re in this together, Ross.”

He hugged her, burying his face in her fragrant hair. “Demelza.” Her name was a sigh from his lips. He drew back and captured her left hand in his right. “Marry me.”

 

She smiled, a little shakily. “I already told you I would, darling, remember?” 

 

“No,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips to kiss once more. “I mean marry me, now.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*grins evilly*_
> 
> My thanks to Sparks and Rainpuddle for the beta. More high-jinks to follow -- be back soon!
> 
> Links to some of the places referenced in this chapter are:  
> [Ross gets an idea at the jewelry store](http://www.connemara.net/jewellery-making)  
> [The ring he picks out](https://www.celticimpressions.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Gra.jpg)  
> [Ballynahinch Walk](http://www.connemara.net/ballynahinch-walk/)  
> [Demelza lingerie from Agent Provocateur (remember...she's got cash)](http://www.agentprovocateur.com/us_en/search/?q=Demelza)  
> [O'Grady's on the Pier, Galway](http://www.ogradysonthepier.com/)


	16. Downshift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> A Modern Romelza Alternative Universe. Explicit and tagged for specific sexual activity.

“Now?” Demelza wheezed, pins and needles prickling every inch of her skin, not believing what she’d just heard. She’d barely had a moment to comprehend the implications from their lovemaking when he’d offered the _second_ proposal she’d received from him in so many hours. _Good thing you were lying down,_ she thought wildly to herself, _otherwise, you’d have been knocked onto your arse._ She scrambled up into a sitting position, clamping the crocheted throw under her armpits. “Are you suggesting we---”

“---Elope, Dee,” Ross beamed, levering up to sit beside her, their backs against the sofa. She searched his eyes, whiskey-gold and glittering in the firelight. Despite his heavy beard, there was a boyish excitement playing around the corners of his mouth. He slid an arm around her shoulders. “I know it sounds completely mad---“

“---You’re not wrong there,” she quavered, her throat still tight with shock. She saw some of the eagerness dim in his gaze and turned, leaning into his embrace. “I’m sorry, Ross, I interrupted you. Could we, perhaps, go to our room to talk? I think I’d be more comfortable in there.”

His brow furrowed in concern. “Of course.” They rose to their feet and walked to the bedroom in silence. Demelza grew more awkward with each step, finding comfort at last when she pulled her sleep shirt over her head. “I have to say this is charming.”

His voice, soft near her ear, made her jump. “Oh, this? I’ve had it since college,” she babbled, stroking the soft, well-worn cotton along her hip.

“Much better in person,” he murmured. She remembered describing it to him the evening they’d had phone sex and blushed. His hand brushed her skin near the low collar along her back. “Who ever knew Minnie Mouse could be so lovely.” She turned to face him, standing so near, unabashed by his nudity. He must have read something in her eyes, because his expression grew serious. “Are you frightened, Demelza?”

“I-I,” she stammered, annoyed that her thoughts were still scattered about in her brain. She blew out a frustrated sigh. “Not frightened, precisely.” She looked up into his beautiful eyes. “Just very thoughtful.”

“Same here,” he offered, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “I mean, now that I’ve said it, I realise just how much I’ve hammered at you today.”

“It _has_ been a lot, darling,” she agreed, moving to the bed to turn back the bedclothes. She settled under the billowy, white eiderdown with a sigh. “The proposal, the…implications.”

He nodded. “I wonder if it might be better if we both spent some time thinking about this.” He reached into his bag for a pair of pyjama bottoms.

“What do you mean?” she asked, a growing unease slinking into her mind as he tied the loose fitting plaid trousers low on his hips. He looked at her, his expression grim, and removed his laptop. “I thought we were going to discuss this, Ross.”

“And we will, love.” He sat next to her, bracing a hand on the bed near her other hip. The warm, musky scent of him enveloped her as he kissed her, stirring memories of their lovemaking...and what had happened after. He drew back to brush his lips against her forehead before leaning back to pin her with his gaze. “But I think you should stay in here for tonight, and I’ll take the couch or one of the guest rooms.”  
  
“What?” _Did he say what I think he said?_ “No!” she cried. She slipped her arms around his ribs, pulling him into her tight embrace.  
  
“Yes, Dee,” he murmured in her ear, his right hand stroking her from neck to the small of her back. “It’s very late, and I could kick myself for making such a suggestion at this hour.” He leant back to meet her eyes. “And at that particular, emotionally charged moment.”  
  
“It was a shock, yes---“  
  
“---It was thoughtlessly typical of me to do that, honey.” His hand stroked her shoulder. Her throat tightened with threatening tears. “I think we both need some time and space to consider it, especially you. We may also be able to grab a little sleep, which can’t do anything but help us.” He kissed her, rubbing the tip of his nose with hers. “Stay here, Dee. We can talk in a few hours.” She nodded, sadness replacing the languorous satisfaction that had surrounded them less than fifteen minutes before as he collected his laptop and -- with a final, pensive half-smile -- left the room, closing the door behind him.

Within moments, Demelza heard the creak of the staircase as he moved to the second floor. She was out of bed before she realised it, stopping herself just before her hand touched the doorknob. _No,_ she thought to herself, _he’s right, dammit_. She would never be able to get her thoughts together if she were with him right now. She padded back to the bed and allowed herself precisely one minute of pitiful weeping into her pillow, just to get it over with, which did nothing but leave her with a headache and smears of black mascara against the crisp white case. She turned the pillow over, gave it a solid punch and flopped down against it, drawing the comforter up to her chin.

Elopement. It was a word filled with excitement, romance and intrigue for the couple, of disappointment and anger from those family and friends who might have wished to share the moment. Demelza had never spent much time daydreaming about what her future wedding would look like, although she had to admit to occasionally pondering about dresses and flowers when she’d been involved with George. He’d sullied those thoughts when he’d humiliated her, had tarnished the prospects of ever finding someone who would be able to inspire that kind of love again.

Enter this smart, brooding, occasionally scruffy and perpetually attractive man who’d come into her life to fix her car and had wound up becoming the keeper of her heart. How was it possible to love someone the way she loved Ross in such a short period of time? So much that she was prepared to share the rest of her life with him...in good times and bad, bearing their children.

 _Bearing their children._ She’d done her best to keep the accident with the condom from her mind, but it came back now with a vengeance as if it had been waiting to pounce at just the right moment. So many thoughts had battled for supremacy in the moments following the news, one of the first being _Should have got that prescription, yes?_ “Thank you, hindsight. Not,” she snarled into her pillow. She took a deep breath, reached for her smartphone and selected an app she’d downloaded to help her track her cycle. She’d supposed correctly: they should be alright, but it was damn close. Too close for her comfort, that was certain.

Ross had given her a gift of time alone to ponder about this. She might as well put the time to good use.

She flipped over and stared at the ceiling. Her thoughts were rambling around her head a mile a minute, and she’d never come to any conclusion if she couldn’t wrangle them into order. _So, what have you done in the past when faced with a challenging decision?_ she asked herself. _Run a contingency diagram in your head, that’s what._ “God,” she groaned under her breath, “I am such a geek.”  She closed her eyes, picturing the diagram in her head:

Right. First things first. She sat up, holding down the home button on her phone. “Siri, what are my options for morning after pills in Ireland?”

“OK, Demelza, here’s what I found,” the cheerful voice chirped, the screen coming alive with two pharmacies in town that could accommodate her. But was that what she wanted to do? He’d said it himself, that he’d stand by her whatever she decided. While she’d countered it was _their_ decision, in truth, it was ultimately her choice of what would happen, _should_ it happen in the first place. That decision, as such, had been made the moment Ross had told her about the accident. She didn’t begrudge the choice for others but knew it was something she’d never be able to personally consider for herself.

She checked that off the list and moved to her career. She was six months away from being approved as the new president of Carnemore at the fourth quarter board meeting. Would the board vote her in if she were six months pregnant? Despite it being the twenty-first century, misogyny still ran riot within their industry. She’d barely had time to consider this before another question unexpectedly struck her: _Would you still_ want _the job?_

The short answer was yes, of course, she did. She’d studied hard for the past ten years in preparation to do so, not because it had been expected of her to be a major part of the family business but because it was her personal ambition to do so.

Connected to this, however, was the possibility of single motherhood. After all, one of the reasons she’d wanted to have some time alone with Ross in the beginning of the marriage was to give them a chance to get beyond the honeymoon stage of things and into a time where the regularities of day to day life with a spouse were a known quantity. So, if things did happen to go pear-shaped with their relationship, she would not simply stay in a bad one for the sake of the child. So, the possibility of single motherhood was something to map out.

She’d been mentored by several women during her schooling, two of whom were single parents. They’d found a way to have a full career and raise their kids at the same time, and in many cases, the challenges they’d faced were ten times more difficult than anything she would face. Her financial situation was such that made concerns over finding child care immaterial. In fact, her father would have been over the moon to dote on a little grandson or daughter in his coming retirement and would probably make plans to stay in Cornwall, rather than go to the family compound in Australia, when the day came. Even if the board made the decision to keep the role as President away from her, she was still the Vice President for Mineral Sciences, and that was a position far outside of the reach of the board. The salary was nowhere near the presidency, but it was more than enough for her to have a good, happy life.

Three down. If none of those were hindrances towards an unexpected pregnancy, was there anything else that posed an obstacle? Ross’s astonishing suggestion to elope made it clear he didn’t consider it to be an issue. But had his decision been made in the heat of the moment, as he’d seemed to imply? Something impulsive that, given time and the space they’d now had, would be tempered by cooler heads?

Demelza mentally crumpled up her diagram, the cold, clinical nature of the exercise making her shiver, turning once again to the warmth her heart. What did _she_ want to do? Was she ready to cast all reason aside and say yes? She huffed out a sigh, tugging the comforter over her head and squeezed her eyes shut in what she suspected would be the fruitless pursuit of sleep.

~*~*~*~*~

A bright ray of sun stabbed against Ross’s lids, drawing a rasping snarl from his throat. God, it hadn’t even felt as if he’d been asleep for an hour before his decision not to fuck with the blinds bit him in the arse. Or the eyes, if one wished to be accurate. He flopped over onto his other side, where the gloom of the shadowed corner of the room beckoned him with the promise of more slumber, but the fact was he didn’t want any more sleep, if one defined sleep as staring up at ceilings or covering one’s head with one’s pillow. He groaned, opening his eyes to find he must have had all of the sand on Hendrawna Beach clogging them. What he needed was to dunk his head in some ice water and have a pee. He heaved himself out of bed -- a slightly lumpy single that had had his feet dangling off the end -- and stumbled down the hall to deal with the latter before stopping back by the room for his laptop and plodding his way downstairs.

He couldn’t help but glance at the door to the master bedroom, finding it as closed off as he’d left it, having done the grown up thing and leave Demelza to her own thoughts about the sea change he’d proposed -- _ha! I see what you did there,_ he snarked at himself -- for the pair of them. He tossed the laptop onto the sofa, shuffling into the kitchen to put the kettle on, and scrounged up some of the leftover yoghurt from yesterday to ease the hunger gnawing at his guts. Moments later, he settled down on the sofa, doing his best not to think about what had happened on it, sipped his tea and flipped open the computer.

He’d spent some time surfing the web the night before, ruminating all the while on the impetuous suggestion that had flown from his gob before he’d had a chance to check himself. It wasn’t as if they were living in the eighteenth century. There were...options. His jaw clenched at the thought, but it was true. The ball was ultimately in her court, regardless of what she’d said, that it was something they’d both decide. But what right did he have in the matter? Did he think, as her husband, his voice would carry the same weight as her own? Was that why he’d spoken?

“Fucking Neanderthal,” he grumbled. No, that wasn’t why. It had almost been a reflex, his panic over the slipped condom muting whatever scraps of reason he’d retained in his head after the most stratospherically awesome sex he’d ever had in his life. The fact that he’d experienced it with the woman who’d captured his heart had made it all the more meaningful, and the repercussions from it that much more important.

Why hadn’t he moved when he should have? Ross knew he’d had moments of idiocy before and would -- in all likelihood -- have them again, but it wasn’t as if that had been his first time using a prophylactic. Hell, he’d even known what to do when it HAD been the first time. There had been an almost primal need to stay connected, to remain a part of her as if they’d indelibly sealed their love, their longing and commitment to each other in those moments. The term “making love” barely seemed to touch what had happened between them.

Well, it couldn’t happen again, that was for damn certain. He knew better than to swear never to touch her again -- because no -- but he’d do what was necessary to make sure any child they had would be welcomed without reservations. He would also let her know she needn’t think about his offer, that there was time enough for them to make a more reasoned decision, if and when last night’s statistical failure resulted in a pregnancy.

He closed the lid on the laptop, rising from the sofa to go investigate the fridge when he heard the creak of the master bedroom door. Demelza stood in the entryway of the great room, her Minnie Mouse sleep shirt skimming the middle of her thighs, her pretty hair tousled from sleep. “Morning, Dee,” he croaked, his voice rough with disuse. “I was just about to fix a cup of tea. Will you joi--oof!”

“Morning, Ross,” she murmured, her lips pressed against his throat. She’d padded into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around his waist, startling the breath from his lungs.

He drew back, stroking her hair back from her face. “Did you get any sleep last night? Or, should I say, this morning?”

“A bit,” she admitted.

He kissed her, almost chastely, releasing his hold. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll bring you a cuppa.” She nodded and made her way to the sofa.

He pulled another mug from the cabinet, poured tea in both and froze. “Uh, Demelza?”

“Hmm?” She glanced up from tossing in more peat to the fire.

Ross’s cheeks burned. “How do you take your tea?”

She smiled. “Just a little milk, no sugar,” she sighed, settling back into the sofa. “Are you alright?”

“I just realised, I’d never made you tea.” He added milk to her cup and made his way over to join her. The mugs clattered on the rustic wooden coffee table. “I asked you to marry me as soon as humanly possible and I’ve no idea how you like your tea.” He rubbed his eyes. “I am the _biggest_ idiot on the planet.”

“Oh, darling,” she crooned, offering him his mug before picking up hers. “Don’t say that.”

“I am!” He got up off the sofa and paced in front of the fire. “Listen, I’m sorry about what I said last night, the elopement. I was being a Neanderthal, Demelza, making assumptions and--”

“It’s okay, Ross, I understand.” She leapt from her seat, interrupting him by placing her fingers against his mouth, stroking his lower lip. “I was just a little shocked, that’s all.” She pressed a kiss to his chin and led him back to the sofa. “Let’s sit and have our tea. I’ve a few questions for you.”

“I imagine you do,” he acknowledged, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb as they snuggled back against the plush pillows with their mugs. “Go on, then.”

She took a sip, a smile lighting her eyes. “This is lovely, Ross, thank you,” she murmured. “How do you take your tea? You see? I don’t know that about you either.”

He grinned. “Milky and sweet. Two spoons.” She crinkled her nose. “I’ve a sweet tooth, you know that.” He arched a brow. “Are you stalling, Dee? You’ve no reason to worry.”

She nodded. “I suppose I am.”

“Take your time,” he offered, despite the herd of elephants churning his stomach into knots. _Slow down, arsehole,_ he thought to himself.

After a time whilst she sipped her tea, she paused. “Did you ask me to elope out of a sense of obligation?”  
  
Ross winced. He had expected that. It didn’t mean he’d enjoyed having his heart poked with a spear, though. “No, love, not at all. I suppose it’s not hard to interpret it as being a rather chauvinistic thing to do.”  
  
She gave him a rueful half-smile, the kind that brought out the apple in her cheek so endearingly. “Thank you for that.” She nestled closer. “And for giving me time to think last night. You were right, I needed it. Let me share some of the conclusions I reached.” He was treated to a display of the complex and unnerving way her analytical mind worked as she laid out her thought process from the night before. She laughed when his jaw dropped as she revealed her contingency diagram exercise. He was quite familiar with the tool, having learned about them in his quality improvement courses at uni, as well as during his work at Poldark Motors. It was one of the ways he’d improved not only quality but efficiency across their service division that saved them millions in waste and made them a stand out across the nation. To visualise her options sketched out on a mental whiteboard was sobering and told the story of the serious considerations she’d given their predicament.

He knocked back the last of his tea, setting the mug beside him. “Dee, can I ask you about one thing?” he asked, hoping he wouldn’t screw it up. He needed her close, in this moment, and used his now-free hand to draw her legs over his, until she was all but in his lap. She sighed contentedly, her head his finger tracing a line to connect the three moles she had next to her knee. “You mentioned termination.” The word tasted like ash on his tongue, but he pressed forward at her nod. “Ultimately, the decision is yours, and whatever you decide I’ll support. But w---”

She kissed him, cutting off his words, tasting of her milky tea with a hint of cinnamon from her toothpaste. “No,” she breathed against his lips. “I support the right to choose, and my choice is no.” She closed the distance between them once again, capturing his bottom lip between hers, brushing her tongue along it until he welcomed it in his mouth, caressing it with his own. It was heaven, all but enveloped in her embrace, and he purred when their kisses turned to nuzzles and cuddles.

“I want to marry you, Demelza, because I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he whispered in the fraction of an inch between them. He tilted his head back to meet her eyes. “My reason for suggesting we do it now was pretty knee-jerk, and yes, part of the reason for urgency resulted from what happened.”

“But we both agreed it would be nice to have time, with just the two of us.”

“I know we did, and it would be,” he sighed, touching the tip of his nose to hers. His heart shook in his chest as the magnitude of their conversation settled deep into his bones. He leant back, her eyes the clearest blue he’d ever seen. “Whatever the future brings, I’d be very happy to be by your side and starting our family, now or ten years from now.”

“Oh, Ross,” she breathed, her hands slipping around his neck, pulling him in for her kiss. It grew lush and celebratory, gentling to warm and lazy as they sank down onto the sofa, legs entwined, their touches soft and adoring. “I do love you.”

He’d never tire of hearing her say that and kissed the tip of her nose. “Love you, too.”

“I’m still not prepared to say yes to the elopement, yet,” she cautioned, a yawn stretching her last word into a sigh. She snuggled her head against his neck and shoulder. “Could I still have time to think about this, Ross?”

“Of course, darling,” he said sleepily, pulling her tight against his side, enjoying her warmth. It was his turn to yawn. “I missed you last night, don’t think I got more than a couple hours of shuteye. Should we go to bed and get a few hours?” When he didn’t receive a response he glanced down at the woman in his arms, her breathing soft and even. “Here’s good. It’s very good.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and closed his eyes, slumber taking him down.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Demelza woke to the sound of Ross’s growling stomach. “A little hungry, are we?” she quipped sleepily, tickling his ribs.

“A fair bit,” he yawned against her temple, his fingers reaching under his t-shirt to scratch his belly. “What time is it?”

She peered over his shoulder. “A little past ten o’clock.” She sat up, her hands smoothing the white t-shirt across his chest, grinning when the nub of his nipple stirred to life under her fingers. Another growl came from Ross’s supine form, this time from his throat. “How about the rest of the bolognese?”

“Best. Spag bol. Ever,” he groaned, licking his lips. She grinned at the compliment and padded over to the fridge to remove the pot. She dished up the savoury pasta into a big bowl, pausing momentarily, distracted by the sight of her fiance’s long, lean body as he raised his arms over his head, twisting and turning at the waist to work out the kinks the come from sleeping in close quarters on a couch. The t-shirt rode up, exposing his lower belly, the plaid pyjama bottoms riding low on his narrow hips. He gave his head a scratch which sent his hair into a wild mop of unruliness no comb would dare attempt to bring to heel. He looked good enough to eat. He caught her staring and flashed a killer grin before he pointed at her feet. “Missed the bowl, love.”

“What?” She looked down to find that a spoonful of pasta had landed atop her coral-polished toes. “Well, hell.” She hobbled towards the sink for a paper towel but was caught up in his arms

“I could take care of that for you,” he teased, his hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. “Your spag bol and your toes. Two of my favourite things.”

He knelt before she could stop him. “Ross!” she squeaked, planting her hand on the counter to keep her balance when he lifted her foot from the floor, raising it to his mouth. She shivered as his lips slurped the noodle from near her ankle before he nibbled and sucked the sauce from the top of her great toe. A bolt of desire rattled through her as his tongue ran along it, pausing to wiggle the gold toe ring she wore on her long toe. Her quim fluttered in response. “Oh, Lord, Ross.”

“You like that?” he asked, releasing her toe to drop a kiss on her arch. His hand ran up her leg, the faint rasp of his callouses along her skin making the fine hairs on her thigh rise along with the gooseflesh. He looked up at her. “Much better than a bowl.”

“Y-Yes, you imp,” she stammered as he rose to his full height and swept her up in his arms for a spicy, savoury kiss. His hands rested against her bum, the heat of his cock pressed against her mound. “It appears we _both_ enjoyed that quite a lot.”

“Hmmm, something to keep in mind for later,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck. “But for now, let’s polish this off before I become distracted by something else.”

She pouted. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind being distracted.”

He spun some of the spaghetti onto the fork, offering it to her. “Well, we’ve a reservation to go horseback riding on Omey Beach, to the island, remember?” Her eyes widened as the memory returned.”Do you still want to go?”

“Oh yes,” she mumbled, covering her mouth as she chewed and swallowed. “Yes, of course! I’ve wanted to go riding with you ever since I saw Seamus at Nampara!” She played with the collar of his t-shirt, fingering the black tuft of chest hair that beckoned. “What does horseback riding have to do with being distracted?” He had the nerve to blush, the silly man! “Ross, what is it?”

“Well, it’s been a fairly...active holiday, hasn’t it, love?” he hedged. She stared at him. “What I mean is, we’ve been intimate quite a bit an---”

“---Oh.” She closed her eyes, feeling the colour rise in her cheeks. “Oh, yes, I-I had a chance to take a long soak in the tub last night when I couldn’t sleep, so that’s helped.” She stroked his cheeks. “I’ll be fine, darling. Thank you for thinking of me.”

“I do my best,” he murmured. “So let’s finish this up, get dressed and go outside to play.” She laughed and offered him some pasta.

They talked of their childhoods while they finished up the food. She filled in some of the blanks that the family’s official biography documented. After her mother died, Demelza and her brothers spent as much time as they could with their father. Their aunt Katherine, who was married to Howard, their father’s younger brother and business partner, provided some of the maternal love they missed, but they had been tended to by nannies for the day to day nurturing until they were old enough to go to school.

“So, your father decided to name you his successor instead of your uncle?” Ross asked, taking another bite of the bolognese. Demelza nodded. “Ouch.”

She scowled. “Uncle Howard has not been very happy with that decision at all.” She stabbed at a chunk of meat with her fork. “He’s been a right bastard about it, to be completely honest.” She chewed and swallowed. “He actually countered my father’s proposal on the grounds that it would be a waste of time and resources to elevate me to president, because ‘she’ll only turn around and resign when she decides to have children.’”

She could see the muscles of Ross’s jaw clench, even through his heavy beard. “Fucking tosser,” he muttered, his eyes widening when he realised what he’d said.

She laughed. “No, you’ve got the measure of him in one, darling,” she huffed, stroking his forearm. “Anyhow, enough about me. How about you?”

He smiled ruefully. “You know about the cousins and uncle.”

“That is true,” she agreed, taking the last forkful of pasta he’d offered her and chewed thoughtfully. “Were you an only child? You’re so close to Verity, one would think she was your sister.”

“I wish that were true.” He took a deep breath. “I had a younger brother, named Claude. He died when I was eleven.” He saw the look of shock that crossed her face from the corner of his eye. “Mum had died a year before, so losing Claude so soon, so suddenly afterwards was pretty horrible.”

“Oh my God, Ross,” Demelza gasped, linking her fingers with his. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks, Dee,” he said, his voice rough. The rest of the story sounded incredibly bleak to her, his father running wild after losing his wife and younger son, gambling and womanising. She shifted along the bench, wrapping her arm around his waist, doing what she could to comfort him. She loved the play of the muscles along his back and spine. As he talked, she used her thumbs to press circles along his spine, his voice growing softer and the tension draining from him as she progressed with her massage. “I’ll give you forever before you stop what you’re doing.”

“You’ve got it,” she laughed, kissing his shoulder. “But we’ll have to resume this another time.” She nodded towards the clock on the mantle. “We’ve got horses to ride!”

An hour later, they were showered, dressed and heading out for the day’s exploits. The riding was thrilling and joyful. Since it was the first time Demelza had ridden in several years, she had been given a pretty, chestnut mare named Chloe who was calm and steady. Ross’s horse was a big, grey gelding called Max. It was clear Ross would have his hands full. _Lord, he looked magnificent on a horse,_ she thought to herself, sitting tall and relaxed in the saddle. She’d chided him on keeping his heels down a few times during their ride, all comments he’d begrudgingly accepted before slipping back into his old habits. Stubborn man!

They spent the three hours, riding along the beach with two other couples, exploring the monastic ruins, sharing a picnic luncheon and chatting with their companions. One of the couples, Richard and his partner, Scott, were from the States and had also become engaged during their stay. There were celebratory toasts with their water bottles and discussions about wedding plans.

As they reached the beach, Ross sidled his horse next to Demelza’s, who apparently didn’t mind the company. “About the elopement, Ross,” she started, reining in Chloe, bringing her to a stop.

He chuckled. “That came out of the blue, didn’t it?”

“A bit.” She grinned. “All the wedding talk from Rick and Scott got me thinking. What would your family think if we eloped?”

“Verity would be disappointed, but I think she would understand.” He arched a brow. “She’s quite familiar with my…”

“Impulsivity?” she offered, earning a pinch on her bum.

“Who's being the imp now, darling?” He rubbed the offended spot. “As for the rest, don’t trouble yourself, as I wouldn’t invite them to a wedding if you paid me.” He circled around until he sat, facing her. “To be honest, it’s your family I’m concerned about.”

“The same,” Demelza acknowledged.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb near the strap of her riding helmet. “I imagine they would expect a big, splashy event, yes?” he asked. “With publicity, media and the like?”

There was a tightness in his voice she’d noticed whenever she spoke about the press. “They might.” She looked at him, his face a study of epic scepticism. It was her turn to poke him. “Oh, alright, they would. The only daughter, incoming president of Carnemore, blah, blah, blah.” She nudged Chloe with her heels to head towards the horse trailers, Ross and Max by her side. “I suspect my father would miss walking me down the aisle,” she said wistfully. “But there’s enough big flashy going on in my life.” She reached for his hand and they linked fingers. “I’d want our wedding to be fairly intimate. A few family and close friends. And you.”

“A groom would be an important thing to remember,” he teased, squeezing her fingers. “I like the sound of that, Demelza.” He motioned towards the trailers, still several hundred meters away. “Race you?” She nodded happily as they kicked their mounts into a fast canter. She wished they needn’t wear riding helmets because she would have loved to have seen his hair blowing in the breeze as they rode. That would be something she could look forward to doing with him once they’d returned back.

They arrived at the trailers winded but exhilarated. They chatted amiably with the owners of the riding centre, thanking them for a lovely afternoon, gathered cell number to confirm their plans to meet up with Richard and Scott for dinner and walked off the beach towards their car.

“Did you let me win, Ross?” she accused him as he unlocked her door.

“Would I do such a thing?” he replied, the corner of his mouth quirked up. She landed a light punch on his arm. “Rematch on Hedrawna Beach, yes?”

She beamed. “I was thinking the same thing just a little while ago.” She watched as he jogged around to the other side of the car, a final thought nudging its way to the forefront of her mind. _You need to get this out in the open,_ she thought to herself. She waited until he’d settled into his seat and placed her hand on his.  “There’s something we haven’t talked about, Ross, about our marrying.”

She noticed that wariness had shadowed his eyes. “A prenuptial agreement,” he stated, pressing his lips together, fixing her with his gaze. He turned off the car. “You know I’m not after your money.”

“Of course I do.” The cold flatness of his tone made her wince and tweaked her temper. “We’ve already had quite the discussion about just that very thing a few weeks ago.”

She couldn’t keep the hurt and annoyance from her voice and found she didn’t wish to. He swore under his breath. “I-I’m sorry, Dee,” he muttered apologetically, taking her hand. The warmth was back in his voice and his eyes when they met hers. His thumb played with the diamond on her finger. “I’m sure it’s something everyone says in this predicament: it’s as if we’re admitting we don’t trust this commitment will survive.”

“I am in complete agreement with you on the subject,”

“I mean, I know divorce happens,” he declared, a bit incredulously. “My friend Paul just got through a nasty divorce not more than six months ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, stroking Ross’s arm.

“You’ve a gentle heart, love,” he smiled, brushing his knuckle along her cheek before he leant across the centre console and kissed her. The nuzzling, nibbling kiss made her toes curl in her boots. The scent from their afternoon hung close around them: horses, sun and sea, the leather seats of the car and the lemon from their water bottles. Demelza slipped her fingers through his hair, sighing as they snogged like teens in the carpark.

“Okay.”

The word is a whispered murmur against her mouth. She leant back, hazy from their embrace. “Hmm? What?”

He kissed her nose. “I’ll do it. If signing a prenup is something that will satisfy your family, I’ll do it for you. For us.”

“Oh, Ross,” she crooned, pulling him close once again for another kiss. “I love you.”

“And I, you,” he responded. He started the car once again. “Do you still want to go ring shopping?” She nodded, clapping her hands together, which made him laugh and banished the tension that had surrounded them. “Right after we get some ice cream. We missed that yesterday.” She giggled at his wink as they left the carpark for town.

Thirty minutes later, their sweet tooths satisfied, they found themselves walking into O’Dalaigh Jewellers where they decided on a pair of gold, Celtic knot rings with white gold rails. The patterns were based on an illumination from the Book of Kells. She felt giddy when Ross tried his on for the first time, the wide band glittering under the shop lights.

He took a deep breath. “Makes it all quite real, doesn’t it, Dee?” he asked, his eyes dark and searching.

“Yes, very much so,” she agreed. Josie, the salesperson who had helped Ross with his purchase the day before, grinned at them both taking selections back to customize. Demelza reached for him, her fingers sliding along the hairs at his nape to draw him down for her kiss. “I don’t want one,” she whispered.

He blinked, bewildered. “What don’t you want, darling?” he asked.

“A pre-nup," she murmured. "Don’t need one, not with you.” She stood on tiptoe, her mouth near his ear. “I’ll marry you. As soon as possible.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, where will this crazy story go next? You'll just have to wait and see! 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has supported this story, shared it with your friends and left your lovely comments here, on the blog or on Twitter. They really sustain me while writing, and I greatly appreciate them. Thanks, as always, to Rainpuddle for her friendship.


	17. Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> The elopement is on! Let the research begin!
> 
> A Modern Romelza Alternative Universe. Explicit and tagged for specific sexual activity.

They burst through the cottage foyer, giddy with laughter and dizzying excitement. “Slow down!” Ross called. Demelza all but danced across the tiles, the loops of the plastic bag containing their curry take-out tangled in her fingers. “You’ll trip on that rag rug and be covered with our dinner!”

She stopped, glancing over her shoulder. “Well, if I get any on my toes you’ll be the first person I call!”

“Minx,” he grinned, closing the door. He brushed a kiss on her lips and relieved her of the bag. “I’ll fix the plates while you get your laptop.” She nodded happily and headed to the master bedroom. They’d talked non-stop on their way home from the jewellers, the decision to elope cemented with an embrace that raised cheers in the shop. First, a call to Rick and Scott for a raincheck, then a stop for the curry before heading straight back to their laptops and planning.

He stacked his hands on top of his skull. _Dee said yes!_ he thought to himself, a disbelieving laugh sneaking past his lips before he wandered over to the fireplace to light the kindling. They’d gained a deeper understanding of what marriage meant to each other -- as individuals as well as together -- over the course of the day. Each conversation made it more clear, had cemented his certainty that marriage to Demelza Carne was all he desired and wished for, to vow to be faithful to her, now and forever. And she had said yes!

Ross heard the water running in the en suite when he went to change into his plaid pyjama bottoms and a grey, Opie Oils t-shirt he’d got from the company in Redruth when he’d signed their contract to supply motor oil for the garage. “How long will you be, love?” he called.

“Five minutes!” she responded.

He was placing the bowls of butter chicken and lamb korma on the table when Demelza came out of their bedroom, wearing her Minnie Mouse nighty and thick, woolly socks, her hair pulled up into a high ponytail. She’d washed her face, cheeks shining with vitality. She set her laptop next to her plate and hugged him around his waist. “So, where shall we start?” she asked, her sea-green eyes lighting up with conspiratorial mischief.

He ran his hand along her spine, kissing her. “You’re certain?”

“Of course!” She pinched his arse and settled into her seat. “I thought I was the one who was supposed to be dumbstruck with shock and amazement, Ross!"

“I know, but it still seems so hard to believe,” he admitted.

“Well, believe it, darling,” she affirmed, reaching across to squeeze his hand. “Now, I think we should start locally.” She dished up some of the korma onto her plate and took a piece of naan. “See if we can find a justice of the peace around here, perhaps?”

Ross shrugged. “It’s as good a place as any to start,” he agreed, grabbing his computer from the sofa and sitting across from her at the table. He flipped up the lid. “Google, be my guide. Thanks, love,” he murmured, glancing up when he saw her spooning some of the food onto his plate.

“You know, I love it when you call me that,” she said softly, dipping her naan into the sauce.

He grinned. “‘Darling’ has a nice ring to it.” Her toe ran up the leg of his pyjamas, and he arched his brow. “Okay, let me focus a minute.” He entered “getting married in Ireland” into the search window and blinked at all of the links. His second glance made him purse his lips. “Hmmm…”

“What is it?”

He clicked on a link. “It says here ‘to be married in Ireland, you must be at least 18 years of age and must not be married already.’”

“Check and check,” Demelza crowed with delight. “Wait, you’re sure you’re not married?” He narrowed his eyes. “Alright, only joking,” she said sweetly.

“The site goes on to say: ‘Regardless of nationality or residence, anyone who wishes to marry in Ireland must give at least three months notification to a registrar”.” He looked up from the computer. “In person.”

“Well, hell,” she grumbled, stuffing a bite of butter chicken-laced naan into her mouth.

“That’s the second time I’ve heard you use that expression today,” he observed, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile.

The scowl in her eyes quelled any humour. _Put the korma in your mouth and shut it._ “It’s a fitting one, under the circumstances,” she muttered as she chewed, covering her mouth with her hand.

Ross swallowed his food and took a swig of pale ale. “Agreed. And before you ask,” he interjected, guessing what she was about to say, “I happen to know there are similar restrictions back home.” He changed the search to England, nodding when the results popped up. “Only twenty-eight days notice in both England and Wales---”

“---But,” she interrupted, flapping her hand, “what-what about Scotland? Gretna Green? Didn’t people always go there to elope back in the old days?”

Another change to the search parameters netted negative results. “Not any longer, Dee,” Ross groaned.

"Oh, Ross," she sighed dejectedly.

He looked up from the screen at his fiance. It was as if defeat had drained the joyful colour from her eyes. “Don’t worry,” he vowed, cracking his knuckles, “there’s always the continent!”

France and Spain were out, the former only requiring thirty days unless there was proof of pregnancy. Despite the accident, there would be no way of knowing for at least another week and a half. The latter restricted non-nationals to a Catholic ceremony (they both laughed) or a two-year residency if they preferred a civil union. They checked Germany, even though neither of them could speak the language, but it required three weeks’ residency. One by one, the other countries in Europe fell by the wayside, until they sat, their supper cold, their appetites turned into ash.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, almost wishing he’d never brought up the spectre of elopement when she spoke. “What did you say?” he asked, distracted by his thoughts.

“I said what if money was no object, Ross?” she offered, louder. His response was instinctive, the skin along his spine prickling as he growled low in his throat. “No, I mean it,” she beamed, leaping to her feet and dragging her chair around next to his. “If money were no object, the world would be open for us to consider! Hell, we could even go to Vegas!”

“God, not Las Vegas,” he grimaced. Despite his curiosity about the bright, shining city it was the last place he’d want to marry the woman of his dreams. Besides, money was indeed an object, for him at the very least. He’d hauled out the business Visa when he’d purchased her engagement ring, knowing it had made a significant divot into the ten grand he’d had on the card for emergencies. His chin went up. “I feel I should pay my fair share of the expenses for this, Demelza.”

She crossed her arms and raised her chin, temper clear in the set of her mouth. “Once we marry, because we are getting married, will we have these same types conversations anytime I offer to buy something for us? Because that could be a problem.” She narrowed her eyes. “No, I amend that: it would be a problem.”

Ross swore under his breath, rising from his seat to pluck the bottle of peated whisky and two glasses off the counter. By the time he returned, the fire had settled in her eyes. She touched his forearm. “I don’t want there to be some unspoken balance sheet being tallied up between us.”

He blinked. Demelza had zeroed in on precisely what he’d had going on in his head, a set of scales that had shifted so abruptly when she’d made her suggestion. It was galling and -- given all they'd discussed and agreed upon regarding the disparity in their incomes -- shameful. His cheeks grew warm under her scrutiny. “How is it that you can read me so well?” he sighed.

“Well, I’ve had recent experience with this particular sore spot of yours, darling,” she said gently, giving him a lopsided grin.

“True enough,” he muttered, a bit ashamed of himself.

“Was I right?” She stood, taking the bottle from his hand, setting it on the table as he did the same with the glasses.

He nodded, for what else could he do? “Close enough,” he sighed, kissing her forehead before meeting her eyes. “It was a set of scales. I’m crap at balance sheets. That’s why Verity handles the accounting.”

Demelza laughed. “Oh, I do love you so.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, stroking his jaw with her thumb. When they broke the kiss, she placed her hands on his chest and held his gaze. “When we marry, what’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine. With no prenup in place, my wealth is yours---”

“---And my debts yours,” he interrupted, crushing the image of the total into dust.

“Ross,” she admonished, giving his nipple a light pinch. Her fingers fanned out to tease his collarbones, the light from the fire making the diamond he’d given her sparkle and glow. She smiled when she followed his gaze. “You gave me such a beautiful gift, Ross, something I’ll be able to see and remember all that happened here.” She brushed his lips with hers. “Will you please let me cover the cost for this? So I can give you a memory you’ll never forget?”

How could he resist, when she’d placed it into that context? He cupped her cheeks in his hands, drawing her face to his for his kiss, infusing it with every ounce of love he carried for her. “Thank you, Dee,” he breathed when he broke the kiss. He stroked her ponytail. “You’re right. And I’m sorry for being such a pigheaded twat.”

“Oh, darling,” she chided, giving him a light swat across his pec, which she promptly kissed. “I know it will take some getting used to.”

“True that,” he agreed. “I do think we should consider how we manage finances, once we return. Especially if your uncle or the board get their way in December.”

“You mean if they decide I’m not the right person for the position?” she asked. She clenched her jaw, her brows drawing together in a look he was coming to know quite well. “Let them try.”

“Could I come to that meeting?” he laughed, giving her ponytail a light tug. “Because I think you would be something to see, all riled up with righteous indignation.”

“I think I can arrange that,” she grinned, standing on tiptoe to nip his bottom lip before tilting her head down at the computer. “Shall we get back to work?”

They cleared the food from the table and settled in to start their worldwide Google search. To speed things along, Demelza suggested they focus their attention on the Commonwealth countries so that citizenship would be one last hurdle to leap. A few clicks later, Ross let out a whoop. “Got it! The British Virgin Islands!”

“Really?” She scooted her chair closer.

“Yes,” he confirmed, swivelling the laptop so she could see. “Only a one-day residency required, so if we were there on Monday, we could marry on Tuesday. We can prepare the application online. All they need are our passports.”

She scanned through the site. “It’s not inexpensive, but it’s not ridiculous, either.”

Ross looked at the number and whistled, holding up his hands at her narrowed gaze. “Not too bad at all, sweetheart.”

“I mean some of the package prices they have are crazy. All we need is a place to stay and someone to marry us.” She grinned, devilishly. “I know of the perfect place.” She tapped the words “100 Pond Bay” into the browser and clicked on the link. His jaw dropped the instant the video started. “You’ll catch a fly if you keep your gob open like that, Ross.”

“Jesus,” he breathed. “That’s stunning!”

“One of my mates from uni spent her honeymoon there a couple of years ago,” she breathed, clicking through the gallery, her smile widening with every groan Ross made.

“The pool," he groaned. "Will you look at the pool! I need that pool.”

She giggled. “They’d married here but went there a few months later. When she showed me the snaps I swore I’d visit there one day,” she said dreamily. “Who knew it would be under these circumstances.” She looked up at him. “Shall I?”

“Whoa.” He tore his eyes away from the screen, rubbing a hand over his heart. It felt like it was about to pound out of his chest. “This actually could happen.”

“It will happen, if I have anything to say about it,” she beamed, squeezing his bicep. He nodded, a little dumbly as all of their talking became a reality before his eyes. She bounded back to the bedroom to grab her wallet. Ten minutes later, she hung up the phone. “All set, my love.”

“A-And the flights?” he asked. “From Dublin, yes?”

She nodded. “I’ll have Andrew handle the transportation details. Those could keep us here for hours, but he’s a miracle when it comes to travel arrangements.” She pulled her laptop from the other side of the table, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she crafted first the email, then the text. Ross peered over her shoulder, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck when she hit “send” on her phone. She spun around in her seat. “Done!” she squealed, clapping.

He picked her up, spinning her around as they kissed, his head dizzy with excitement. _And I’m was the rash one!_ he thought to himself as he set her on her feet. He captured her lips once more, moaning as her fingers slid into the hair at his nape, as her tongue caressed his. It made him burn for more. They parted, breathing a little heavily. “Well,” he said hoarsely, brushing her lips once more, “if we’re going to the tropics, this thing’s going to need to go.” He raised a hand to his cheek to stroke his beard. He’d trimmed it before they went to dinner, but it was still fuller than he thought he could stand in the tropical heat of Virgin Gorda.

“Can I have a chance to say farewell to it until the winter?” she asked with a sexy pout, nudging him back onto the chair and straddling his lap. The hem of her nighty rode up her thighs, revealing the golden russet curls of her mound. He groaned, his cock going rock hard in an instant as she settled against him.

 

He nuzzled her neck, rubbing her skin with his beard, his hands squeezing the cheeks of her arse. “I think that can be arranged.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Andrew was locking up the house for the night when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. It was a text message from Demelza.

 

> From: Demelza Carne  
>  To: Andrew Blamey  
> 26/05/2016 21:09
> 
> Hi Andrew -- I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I have an urgent, personal favour to ask you. Check your email. D

Frowning, he tapped his mail app and scrolled to the message marked “URGENT AND CONFIDENTIAL”:

 

> To: Blamey, Andrew (andrew.blamey@carnemore.com )  
>  Sent: Friday, 26 May 2017 20:47  
>  From: Carne, Demelza (demelza.carne@carnemore.com )  
> Cc: Ross Poldark (ross@namparagarage.com)
> 
> Subject: URGENT AND CONFIDENTIAL
> 
> Hi Andrew -- first of all, I’m fine. Never better, as a matter of fact. I need you reschedule all appointments through the end of next week and to book two first or business-class tickets to Tortola, British Virgin Islands, one for me and one for Ross. Full name is Ross Vennor Poldark. I’m copying him in case there are any additional questions you have -- you can contact him directly -- and sending you his contact info for your files. Departing from Dublin tonight, if possible -- we can be at the airport in three hours. Returning Saturday 3 June at whatever time works out best for the tickets. Personal expense account, of course. I’ve already made arrangements for our accommodations.
> 
> Not a word to the family. Tell them I needed some R&R and will be back soon.
> 
> Call with questions, if any. Thanks a million!
> 
> Demelza

_British Virgin Islands,_ Andrew wondered, shoving his glasses onto his forehead and rubbing his eyes. His brain stumbled over everything he’d just read. What in God’s name was his boss and her new boyfriend -- because it was true, they’d only had their first date a week ago -- up to with this trip? He flipped the glasses back onto his nose, gave them a nudge to settle them in place and Googled.

It took him less than two minutes to figure it out. “Bloody effing hell.”

~*~*~*~*~

_“Ladies and gentlemen, as we start our descent, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. Thank you.”_

Demelza turned her gaze away from the crystalline blue water several thousand feet below them to peer at her fiance once more. He was almost a stranger to her, the beard that had been one of the first things she’d noticed about him now a mere memory. She’d managed to keep him from taking the scissors to his hair. “One small step at a time,” she’d pleaded, still marvelling over his already altered appearance. Clean-shaven he looked younger than his thirty-one years, his strong jawline as riveting as the beard had been. She’d discovered why he enjoyed wearing it during the colder months of the year, as he’d complained he would have to shave twice daily to keep the beard at bay. “I don’t want to irritate your skin with it,” he’d reasoned, grinning as she’d stroked his cheeks for what must have been hours.

He probably wished he’d kept the facial hair for a while longer. Even the thick, five o’clock shadow that had grown during their trans-Atlantic trip he could not hide the sickly pallor of his skin as they completed the last leg of their flight on a Bombardier Q400 prop plane. The flight from San Juan, Puerto Rico was only forty-five minutes long, but that was long enough, under these circumstances. “Are you alright, Ross?” she asked, touching his hand.

“Jesus,” he rasped.

“At least you’ve stopped swearing,” she noted, kissing his jaw. They’d received several glowering looks from the elderly passengers across from them.

He cracked his eyes open, turning his head to face her. “I must love you because it’s the only way I could ever be convinced to get on one of these things.”

She pressed a kiss to his lips, the sensation of doing so sans maximum beardy goodness still so new. “You realise we’ll have to take one of these on the way back,” she reminded him.

“Maybe we can just move here,” he moaned as he glimpsed the water below. There was a rumble as the landing gear moved into place. “And if we’re about to land, wouldn’t it be good to have some land underneath us to do so?” She snort-laughed, hoping she’d covered it with a cough. No such luck. “You’re laughing at me.”

“No, darling, I’m laughing with you,” she cajoled. “Believe me, once we get settled, you’ll see the humour of the situation.” She gave his arm a squeeze. “And just think: what a wonderful story to tell our children one day.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up in a smile. “That’s a pleasant thought, Dee,” he murmured, closing his eyes once again and twining his fingers with hers. “If we survive.”

They’d been either in the air or stuck in airports for over fifteen hours after receiving Andrew’s itinerary just after one in the morning. They’d had a mad scramble packing and closing up the cottage, piling their belongings into the car and tearing up the M6 to the M4 and Dublin with enough time to get through customs. They stored the majority of their clothes at the airport for their return flight home, taking only their wedding rings, toiletries and undergarments. Ross had been insistent on that, watching as she placed her purchases from Agent Provocateur into his black leather bag. They’d ordered the basics -- shorts and t-shirts for him, a sundress for her and sandals for both -- to be awaiting their arrival at the condo. They would pick up anything else they needed after their visit to the registrar’s to complete their marriage application. They’d worn the coolest clothing they’d had, glad of the mild temperature as they boarded in the Dublin early morning air, snuggling deep into the blankets provided in business class. They’d had a flight change at JFK to San Juan and a three-hour layover before their introduction to Ross’s current torture device.

A strip of the island appeared outside their window. “Hold my hand, darling,” she murmured. “Just try not to break my fingers.”

"I won't," he whispered. "I love your fingers."

A few seconds later, the tires screeched on the runway, and the plane smoothly began its taxi towards the airport. _“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Terrance B. Lettsome International Airport Airport in the British Virgin Islands. Local time is twenty past seven, and the temperature is seventy-six degrees, Fahrenheit, twenty-four degrees, Celsius.”_

“Oh, listen to that, Ross,” she moaned, the thought of basking in the heat of the Caribbean causing her to curl her toes in her shoes.

Ross released an enormous breath, one she hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and let go of her hand. “Sorry.”

She wiggled her fingers. “That’s alright, Ross, we’re here!” She leant back so he could look out of the window.

“Terra firma,” he sighed, grinning sheepishly at her. “This is the first time I’ve ever flown in a plane this small.”

“Really?” she said, surprised. She’d had her pilot’s license to fly Cessna-class single props for over three years and hoped to own her own within the next year. _Now’s probably not the best time to mention that,_ she thought to herself.

He nodded. “Honestly? This trip is only the third I’ve ever made outside of Great Britain and Ireland.”

“Seriously?” she blinked, grinning at his nod. “Oh, the places we’ll go, darling. And I promise, after we go home, no more prop planes for you,” she finished before he could say a word. “I do have one question for you.”

“What?” he said warily.

“How do you feel about boats?”

Ross smiled like a Cheshire cat. “I am very good with boats.”

The air was balmy and warm when they took the stairs down to the tarmac. They took a cab to the marina where the water taxi awaited to complete the last leg of their journey. He was good with boats, his handsome, olive-toned skin replacing the wanness that had claimed him on the plane.

“You look like a sea captain or pirate,” she commented, watching as he stood, legs steady at the bow of the boat. “All you need is a tricorn hat and a parrot!” She toyed with a recalcitrant curl that had escaped his ponytail. “Captain Poldark,” she murmured dreamily. He glanced down at her in surprise, sliding his arms around her. “It’s got a nice ring to it.”

“Sounds like you’ve a fantasy in mind, minx,” he growled in her ear. “Arrrr.”

She giggled and kissed him. They spent the rest of the thirty minutes to Virgin Gorda chattering about the water, the sun, the sky and their excitement about what was to come for them during their stay.

As they approached the dock, Ross brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Are you tired? he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m too excited to be tired, although I suspect it will hit me soon enough. You?”

“A bit, although I could stand to have something to eat,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I thought you might,” she grinned, her thumb running circles over his trapezius muscle, making him purr low in his throat. “They will have something to tide us over until the morning.” She surprised herself with a yawn which made him chuckle. She tugged his ponytail. “Tomorrow will be soon enough for us to go exploring,” she declared, curling her hand around his bicep as the boat docked with a gentle bump. The sleek, black car for 100 Pond Bay was less than one hundred feet from them, and she bounced on her toes. “Let’s go up and see if the pictures were too good to be true!’

~*~*~*~*~

“Holy shit,” Ross groaned. He stood in the middle of the condo’s living room, staring out at the twin triangular pools filled with aquamarine-blue salt water overlooking the bay for which the compound was named. The sun dipped low into the impossibly clear Caribbean sea, making him wish for the energy to go down the stairs from their unit to the private beach and fling himself into its waves. The property manager had given them a tour of the condo, pointing out the kitchen and dining room, the floor-to-ceiling accordion windows that opened the entire front of the unit to the ocean breeze. “Demelza!” he shouted, yanking off his trainers and pulling his t-shirt over his head.

“Ross, the bedroom!” she gushed, running around the corner from the hallway leading to their room. “God, you won’t believe the show--what are you doing?”

He reached for his belt. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m getting into that pool. Now.” He held out his hand. “Join me.”

She giggled, toeing off her shoes. “You don’t have to ask me twice!” They laughed as they stripped down to their skin and scampered over to the edge. “Use the stairs! I’ll not have you concussed before we get married!”

He rolled his eyes, taking her hand and easing down the steps into the deliciously refreshing water. “Sweet lord,” he moaned, ducking under to swim the length of the pool. Seconds later, a titian-haired silkie streaked along his side, her hands slipping around his neck to draw him into her embrace. They broke the surface, catching their breath. “Thank you, Dee,” he hummed, nuzzling her neck. “Thank you for this.”

“I love you, Ross,” she sighed against his ear, “so glad I can share this with you.”

His hands roamed over her naked skin, his mouth licking the salt water from her neck and shoulder. She twined her legs with his, her mound brushing against his stiffening cock. “Demelza,” he groaned.

“Oh, Ross," she whispered, her arms sliding around his back. "You feel marvellous next to me."

“It was your idea t-to give things a rest until after the wedding,” he gritted out through his teeth. “As you can tell, I’m more than willing for you to rescind your plan for the next two days.” She gave him reason to hope when she ran her nails along his spine and pressed a kiss to his throat. _Please, oh please, oh please._

Her sigh gave him the answer and he groaned. “No, I can survive,” she whimpered as she untangled her legs and arms, easing out of his embrace.

He opened his eyes to find her floating a foot away from his reach, her red hair dark and curling around her shoulders, the lights from the pool illuminating her beautiful body. “Siren,” he growled. “I hope I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who has supported this piece! I've been keeping this a secret for so long I'm over the moon to share it with you now. Massive thanks to Rainpuddle, who puts up with my obsession with these two -- I promise more Nisqually is next up!


	18. Outcroppings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something to soothe the wounded hearts out there.

“It was only two weeks ago when she insisted on taking a long weekend in Denver, something about needing a little rest and relaxation,” Howard Carne’s gravelly voice barked out of the speakerphone. “Now she extends a two day holiday to a full, bloody week? For no reason? This is just one example why that daughter of yours is not suited to the role as CEO, Thomas, and you know it!”

Andrew Blamey’s finger hit the mute button, tossed his horn-rimmed glasses onto the conference table and pinched the bridge of his nose. This call was not going well.

“Howard, I realize this is most unlike her,” Thomas Carne supplicated, “but she's never given us any reason to mistrust her and I'll not question her decision making now, not if she’s not here to engage in the conversation!” Andrew winced at the way Thomas’s tone had increased with the last few words. The man was recovering from a heart attack, for God’s sake, not that Howard Carne cared. For all Andrew knew, the despicable man was doing his best to drive his older brother into an early grave.

“Dad, you need to relax, now,” Sam warned, “You know what Doctor Paulson said.” Andrew was relieved his former boss was down in Australia at the family compound with Thomas, if for no other reason than to keep his father’s temper at bay. “Uncle Howard, that’s enough!”

“Alright, alright,” the patriarch of the Carne family muttered.

Andrew reached for the mute button. “Gentlemen, let me suggest that I reach out to Demelza to schedule some time for the three of you to speak this week,” he offered, his firm, calm voice cutting through the din as effectively as a knife through butter.

“Why you hadn’t done this at the onset of this lunacy is beyond me, Blamey,” Howard growled.

“Enough, Howard.” Thomas quelled his younger brother’s tirade with a warning tone Andrew had only heard once before: during the board meeting where Thomas had elevated Demelza to the new CEO. “Thank you, Andrew,” the patriarch of the Carne family offered. “Let Annie know what time works best.”

“You’re welcome, sir, goodbye,” Andrew responded, tapping the disconnect button on the speakerphone before Howard could utter another word. He leaned back in his chair, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes and blew out a sigh of exhaustion. He’d managed to get a number Demelza’s meetings rescheduled during the first few hours he’d been at the office. Most of them had been easy enough to do, but this last one had been brutal. He knew she would be displeased to have what was -- Lord help her -- her honeymoon disrupted, but she’d be even more upset if her uncle’s ravings caused her father any injury.

He looked at his watch and groaned. It was already after three o’clock, and he hadn’t had any lunch. He got up and headed over to the elevator to make his way down to the coffee shop in the lobby.

He’d made it no more than two steps into Tin Stamp Coffee when he ran straight into Verity Poldark. She bobbled a couple of boxes in her arms. “Miss Poldark!” he shouted, his arm darting out to slide around her shoulders.

“Oh! Mr Blamey” Verity exclaimed, reclaiming her hold on the boxes, her eyes flickering up to meet his. She had the most extraordinary chestnut brown eyes he’d ever seen, with long, curling lashes. A lovely blush stained her cheeks.

He jumped, removing his arm from her shoulders. “Andrew, please,” he insisted, holding out his hands. “May I take these from you?”

“If you wish, Andrew, but only if you call me Verity.” She grinned. “They’re samples I prepared for Amy here.” She nodded towards the pretty manager of the coffee shop.

“Samples?” he asked stupidly as the delectable scent of fresh pastry wafted into his nostrils.

“I wanted to see if I could give my snack boxes another go,” Verity explained. “I sorted out some of the issues I had a few months ago and figured it couldn’t hurt.”

“She did not disappoint." Amy chirped. A tinge of her West Indian accent added a pleasant lilt to her voice . “One of the best pasties I’ve ever had, Andrew. Curry!”

Andrew smiled at Verity. “So, what’s the verdict?”

“Another two-week trial, starting tomorrow,” Amy praised. “We’ll extend through the summer if it goes well.”

“Congratulations, Verity!” he congratulated her, peering under the slightly bent top of the box in his hands. “Could I give one of them a try?”

“Absolutely,” Verity offered, taking a box from him. “This one is a simple chicken salad with almonds, apples and dried cherries, and the other is a piece of vegetarian frittata. Both come with fruit, a small packet of crisps and a lemon bar.”

Andrew thought he would drown in his saliva. “Crikey!” She laughed, a charming, musical sound. “Maybe I should have both, just to be sure!” Another tinkle of laughter. “Or could I convince you to join me for a late luncheon?”

“Or early tea?” she suggested, nodding.  

“Excellent idea!” he agreed, holding out his hand towards a table for two. “Do you mind, Amy?”

“Not at all! Let me know what you’d like for tea, and I’ll bring it your way.”

They sat down and dove into their food. Andrew’s eyes rolled into the back of his head at his first taste of the chicken salad. “This is marvelous, Verity.”

She blushed again. “I’m glad you enjoy it.” They ate companionably in silence for a few moments before she set her fork down. “I got your voice message about Wednesday’s CarnemoreCares meeting.”

“Yes.” It was the last meeting he had to reschedule. He paused, feeling his face turn red. “Of course you, er, know that she is on holiday.”

She smiled, touching his forearm. He felt his skin tingle under the sleeve of his button down. “It is a little awkward, isn’t it?” she admitted. “I got a text from Ross saying they were extending it through the week.”

There was another long pause where they both poked around at their food. _Does she know where they are?_ he wondered to himself. It wasn’t for him to say, that was for certain. “I, er, suppose it’s good to know things are going so well for them,” he offered, lowering his eyes to his salad before he could finish.

“True, very true,” she murmured, chewing a small piece of the frittata.

“I mean, she was about as happy as I’ve ever seen her after their dinner date,” he said, gesturing with his fork.

Another nod and another silence before Verity slapped her fork down onto the table. He jumped. “Andrew,” she sighed, “there is nothing for either of us to feel awkward about the fact your boss and my cousin are seeing one another, full stop.”

He exhaled. “Thank you for that.”

“They are grown adults and can do as they wish,” Verity went on, arching a brow as dark as a raven’s wing. “And I’m sure you’d join me in wishing them both well if it didn’t mean we had to scramble around to rearrange their lives while they swan about like two lovesick teens.”

Andrew threw his head back, roaring with laughter. “Oh, Verity,” he finally managed, picking up his fork again. “You have no idea how much I needed that.”

She giggled. “Me as well.” She dug her phone out of her purse. “So, what day next week looks good?”

~*~*~*~*~

The Caribbean sun slanted through the blinds of the master bedroom, stirring the sleeping figure in the lush, kingsize bed. At first, Demelza had to remember where she was, jet lag doing its best to keep her fuzzy about the details, but when her hand reached for Ross she remembered. They were to be married in a little more than thirty-six hours here in the British Virgin Islands and she’d had the hairbrained idea to sleep apart until their wedding night! _That will teach you to make these kinds of decisions over your fourth glass of champagne,_ she muttered to herself. She’d come to regret that decision during their late night swim in their private pool where he’d used his hands and mouth in an attempt to make her change her mind, and he’d almost succeeded. In the end, they’d agreed that a day or two apart would make their wedding night that much more special.

At least that’s what she was telling herself. In less than a week she’d grown so used to having him next to her as she slept, the weight of his arm across her waist, the spoon of his hips against hers, his soft, even breath in her ear. She’d had to pile the pillows on the other side of the bed to snuggle against, her sheer exhaustion from their travels finally dragging her down into a restless slumber. Several hours later, she felt refreshed and grateful for it, because they had quite a bit to accomplish if their plans for tomorrow evening were to take place. She flipped the covers off stretching as she got out of bed and headed to the en suite.

Twenty minutes later, she opened the bedroom door, dressed in the simple, floral-print sundress she’d found in the straw hamper the property manager had left on the dining table. It was perfect for the twenty degree morning. But when she passed Ross’s room, it was empty save the rumpled bed. She frowned, making her way to the living area where she found a note on the table:

 

> Gone to the beach. Back soon. R

She cocked her head, wondering what he’d used for trunks. There had only been one pair of shorts in the basket for him to wear today until they were able to shop for a few more items.   She went to the edge of the pool deck, peering over the wall down onto the white sands only twenty below the condo, so she figured she would be able to see him.

She was right. Lord. Ross was beautiful to watch in the water. She’d discovered that the night before as he’d swum circles around her as sleek as a seal. There he was, splashing in the surf, his face wreathed in smiles. He dipped under to spear along like a fish, bursting to the surface, tossing his glossy, black hair back in one, graceful movement. He turned, spotting her and waved. “Good morning!” he shouted, stepping from the surf.

Demelza’s jaw dropped as a jolt of lust raged through her body. Surely he wasn’t…”Ross!” she squeaked. He was naked as the day he was born. “Are you mad?”

“What’s the point of a private beach if you can’t skinny dip in the ocean?” he chuckled, grabbing the beach towel he’d left on the sand, wrapped it around his waist and bounded to their stairs. She scurried around to meet him as he reached the top. Wild curls, glistening with the sea, his skin rough in places where he’d been in the sand and eyes as brilliant and happy as she’d ever seen them. “I missed you.”

He kissed her gently, his hand cupping her cheek. At first, she did her best not to press against him, to keep the seawater off her dress but succumbed in seconds. It was like coming home, the feel of his body against hers. Desire coiled in her stomach, lighting a fire between her legs. His tongue caressed hers as his hands roamed along her waist and back.

She moaned against his mouth. He was _definitely_ happy to see her. “I missed you, too,” she murmured when they broke their kiss.

He kissed the tip of her nose and rested his forehead against hers for a moment. “Less than thirty-six hours to go,” he offered in consolation.

She looked at her watch. “Thirty-three hours, twenty-two minutes, but who’s counting?” she teased, taking his hand and walking into the living room. “Have you eaten?”

“I had some yoghurt and some of the fruit they had here, but I could use something more substantial,” he said with a grin. The man _was_ a bottomless pit sometimes.  “I saved you one of the mangoes. The one I had was ridiculously good.”

She nuzzled his nose with hers. “Why don’t you get showered and changed and I’ll see what I can do. I’m not a whiz in the kitchen like your cousin, but I can do a mean eggy in a basket.”

“That will be perfect,” he sighed, rubbing his flat stomach. _So very flat, her eyes following the trail of hair that ran from his navel down to his_ \--- “You keep staring at me like that and I’m not sure I’ll be responsible for my actions,” he growled, the corner of his mouth curving up in a sexy smile. He kissed her, a sharp, biting kiss that made her toes curl in her sandals. “Back in a moment.”

She groaned, turning to the kitchen to pull out what she needed. _You can do this, and it will be worth every sacrifice,_ she thought to herself. She was glad of the busywork, for as time passed, her thoughts of what she was missing slid back into the recesses of her mind, where they needed to stay.

Fifteen minutes later, Ross returned to the kitchen, freshly shaven and dressed in the pale blue linen shirt and white shorts they’d had in their goody basket. It was still strange to see him without his beard, and the new clothes were another shock to her system, for she’d seen him in his work coveralls and dressed to impress. Never this casual, never this relaxed. “Hello, handsome,” she crooned as he sidled up to her by the stove.

“Hello, yourself,” he whispered in her ear. Oh, he smelled wonderful, of cedar and leather. “You are beautiful, Demelza.” He stepped back to admire the summery, teal halter dress that skimmed the middle of her thighs. “It looks like it was made for you. And you know how much I love this colour on you.”

“Thank you, darling.” She blushed, the night of their dinner date in Ireland flooding her mind with memories, lush and delicious. She barely bit back the groan that had risen in her throat. He leaned close and kissed her cheek, the smell of his shampoo so enticing. His eyes shifted to the plate of buttery toast and fried eggs she’d prepared and his smile broadened. _A distraction, thank heavens._ “You take this; I’ll get the juice. Meet you on the patio.”

They ate companionably, watching the gulls fly and squabble overhead. After a moment, Ross cleared his throat. “Demelza?”

“Hmm?” she mumbled, a hand over her mouth.

“I was thinking,” he said, his expression thoughtful. “After tomorrow, we never need part again.”

“Oh, Ross.” It was such a romantic thought it made her heart skip a beat. She set her plate down and slid closer to him on the bench. She drew circles on his knee with her nail, wondering if she should broach a topic that had crept into her mind while she was showering. “Have you given any thought about where we should live?”

He blinked several times. “You know, I haven’t, not until this moment, love.” He set his glass down and put his arm around her shoulders. “Your flat is gorgeous, a dream.”

She poked him in the ribs. “You’re just thinking about the TV room and that big screen, I know you are.”

“I’ve been fantasising about that soaking tub in the master bath, wondering if it’s large enough for two,” he growled playfully, leaning close to kiss her throat. She giggled and he drew back. “Seriously, it is marvelous, and I could see myself getting used to living there, but I have so much of my life up at Nampara. Just as you have so much right there in town.”

His handsome brow, so relaxed and untroubled, began to furrow. “You know,” Demelza said brightly, “this is nothing that needs to be decided upon today, or for the rest of the time we’re here.” She laced her fingers with his. “I _can_ tell you that when we get home, I want my first night as your wife in the UK spent at Nampara.”

He grinned, the concern in his eyes whisked away. “I love that idea,” he crooned, pulling Demelza close for another mind-bending, marvellous kiss. Her phone alarm pinged on the living room table. “Is that important?” he murmured against her mouth as he threaded his fingers through her hair.

“Well,” she sighed dreamily, leaning into his caress, “it is if we want to make this official.” She drew back. “That was my alarm. The registrar’s office opens in an hour, and we’ve a water taxi ride to get there.”

He rose from the bench smiling and held out his hand. “Ready when you are, Ms Carne.”

The weather was brilliant, rather warm but the tropical breezes made everything bearable. Demelza was happy to have the wide brimmed straw hat to protect her from the sun, and had promised Ross she’d slathered on the sunscreen that had been left for them. The trip to Tortola was quick and, before they knew it, they were standing in the registrar-general's office, signing a dizzying amount of paperwork. An official from the office would come over to their condo the following day at six o’clock to perform the ceremony. Ross had insisted on paying for the licence and she stroked his arm when they were presented with the final total of three-hundred and sixty pounds, an amount she wouldn’t have thought twice about, but one she knew would cause him distress.

“Ross, will you let me pick up the tab for the rest of the trip?” she asked. “Remember, we agreed to this.”

His jaw had tightened for an instant before he nodded, his expression grim. Demelza arched a brow. “Alright, alright. Thank you very much, love.”

Next, they visited a shop where they purchased beach clothes better suited for the islands than what they’d worn last night on their flight. She found a couple of bright, linen sundresses, blouses, a pair of shorts and a sea-green string bikini that made Ross grin. A lot. Meanwhile, in addition to the shirts and shorts he’d selected, he’d found a pair of swimming trunks that she knew would fit him like a glove. They made _her_ very happy.

Ross was trying on sunglasses while Demelza went to the register. “Did you find everything you were looking for?” the clerk, whose name tag read Gina, asked.

“Yes, we did,” Demelza beamed, leaning close, “although I have a question for you.” She glanced over her shoulder, certain he was preoccupied. “Do you have a bridal section?” she whispered.

Gina beamed. “Oh, you two are getting married! Congratulations!” The two women cooed over Demelza’s ring and chatted about some of her plans. “I would love to help you, but we don’t have a bridal section here, although some of our simpler dresses would suit, I can recommend a shop just up the way where I know you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

Demelza smiled her thanks and rejoined Ross. He was wearing a pair of mirrored aviator glasses that were in turns, sexy and ridiculous. “Did you want to get some sunglasses?”

“I probably should,” he mused. “I was squinting the entire way across from the condo. I’ll pick these up.”

She pointed. “Those, specifically?”

“What?” he asked, slipping them back on his nose and posing. “Not me?”

She snorted a laughed, brushing a kiss on his cheek. “You get whichever pair you like. Listen, can you occupy yourself for a half an hour?”

“Sure, although I don’t think it will take me that long to find a pair of shades.” He frowned. “What’s going on?”

She sighed: just because the fact she had a unique dress for the wedding wouldn’t spoil the surprise of his first glance of her it. “I want to purchase a dress for tomorrow, and I don’t want you to see it.”

“Oh! That’s an excellent point,” he observed, pushing the glasses on top of his head. He glanced down at his attire and gave her a wry grin. “Something tells me surfer shorts and a t-shirt won’t do your dress justice.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’d marry you in our running gear, Ross.”

He chortled, tugging her braid. “I think I can do better than that.”

“I have confidence you will. Now nothing too fancy,” Demelza urged. “I’ve got an idea.” She tugged him back to the counter. “Gina, can you help my groom find a little something for tomorrow?”

The clerk nodded. “Leave him with me.” She smiled appreciatively at Ross. “We’ll get him sorted.”

“Thank you so much,” Demelza bubbled, giving Ross’s arm a squeeze. “I’ll meet you at Charlie’s, the restaurant at the Moorings? We can get a bite to eat before we go back to Virgin Gorda.”

“I like the sound of lunch with you,” he said softly, kissing her. “Have fun, love.” She waved him goodbye and turned to walk down the street to the shop Gina recommended. It was a lovely place and made the giddy bride in her sigh. Veils, sandals and dresses, so many gowns, from the simplest white cotton sheath to formal tulle and extravagant lace.

“Welcome to Vows,” came a voice from behind her. A slender, older woman with beautiful salt and pepper dreadlocks smiled in welcome. “I’m Simone. May I help you?”

“Yes, you can, Simone,” Demelza admitted. “I’m getting married tomorrow and need a dress.”

“Congratulations!” the clerk exclaimed. “And so soon! Well, tell me a little about your plans. That will help me narrow down some of the ideas that come to mind.” Demelza described the condo and the beach where the wedding would take place. She shared a bit about Ross, and the mood she hoped they could create. “So it will be intimate, just shared by the two of you, yes?”

“That’s correct,” Demelza responded. “We will have two witnesses, which we’re still trying to sort out, but other than that, it’ll be just us.” She felt a pang of sadness when she spoke those words, but it passed as soon as it came. _This_ was what she wanted, just the two of them

“Why don’t we go to the fitting area, and I’ll bring you a selection of dresses I think will suit.” Demelza was offered a champagne punch that tasted delicious. The clerk returned with four dresses, but Demelza knew in an instant which one she was destined to take.

“I knew it.” Simone beamed with pride. “I could just picture you in it the moment you came through the door. Now, why don’t you try it on while I bring you a few more items to consider.”

Twenty minutes later, Demelza walked out of Vows, a garment bag folded over her arm and smiling from ear to ear. He was going to _love_ this.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Gina had, indeed, sorted Ross’s wedding gear out in no time, but not without a little distress. He hated the moments when his brain would compare this wild, impetuous experience with Demelza with that of his ex-fiance, Elizabeth, but such a moment sprang into mind while he was selecting his clothes. Elizabeth hadn’t trusted him to do the job right, so she’d been the one to pick out what he was to wear for their wedding, right down to his socks. That should have been a warning sign.

“Stop it,” he’d grumbled out loud, startling the clerk as she was in the midst of showing him waistcoats. “Sorry, Gina.” _Don’t let that time of your life spoil the brilliance of what’s happening now,_ he scolded himself before they’d finished up.

Thanks to Gina’s efficiency, he had a little additional time to check out Charlie’s before he expected his bride for their lunch date. Ross slung the garment bag over his shoulder, slipped his new sunglasses onto his nose, grabbed the other two shopping bags they’d accumulated and headed out of the shop.

Demelza, his bride. Now _there_ was something to keep his mind occupied for the rest of his days. The girl he’d met mere weeks before was about to become his wife. He had absolutely no reservations about their decision, despite the speed at which they were moving. Theirs had been a whirlwind romance, to be sure, but they’d already weathered storms within their relationship that would have destroyed others.

He walked to the restaurant, pondering some of the other storms they would have to face soon. The possible pregnancy was never far from his mind, but he was ready to support Demelza and whatever children may come. That was a far more pleasant prospect for consideration than the firestorm they would face when they returned to England. Ross was terribly concerned about the reaction Demelza’s family would have about their union. He’d grown up around enough wealthy families to have heard about the battles and the ugliness that arisen upon a matter as life-changing as marriage. And what if Demelza was pregnant and suddenly married to a mechanic with no prospects?

He was shown to a table on the open air patio. He settled their purchases on a chair and ordered a drink, tilting the sunglasses up onto his forehead to rub his eyes. God, he wished he could talk to Verity. He needed her calm, steady counsel. But what would he say to her? Would he tell her where they were, and what they were doing tomorrow evening? Would she be upset with him? _Of course she would, you idiot,_ he muttered to himself. _She loves you like a brother and is the only family you’d wish to have standing next to you when you take Demelza for your wife._

He reached into his pocket for his cell phone. Just then, the touch of a hand on his shoulder made him jump. The glasses slid down onto his nose. “Hey you,” Demelza cooed, sliding onto the chair next to him. “Nice specs!”

“You were right,” he acknowledged, leaning in his head under the rim of the straw hat she wore to brush a kiss on her temple. He pushed the round, honey-brown shades up to the bridge of his nose. “So not me.” He looked pointedly at the garment bag Demelza had draped the chair with the rest of the day’s shopping. “Were you able to find everything you wanted?”

“Oh, yes,” she drawled, nodding her head towards his own. “You too?”

He nodded. “I think you’ll be pleased.” He knew she would.

“No peeking!” she grinned. He crossed his heart with his index finger, her charm, enthusiasm and beauty casting aside his troubled mind.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Bollocks,” Verity groaned at the sheets of rain curtaining the yard. It was the day to muck out the chickens, an unpleasant job on good days, but sheer misery when water fell from the sky in buckets. Rainy days like this were much better spent by the fire, reading a book or in the kitchen, baking bread. Maybe the weather will change in the afternoon? She wondered to herself. She grinned, toeing off her Wellies and headed to the pantry.

She was setting the yeast to proof in a small cup when the company phone rang. She hit the handsfree button. “Nampara Garage, Verity speaking,” she chirped, tipping flour into the heavy glass bowl of her stand mixer.

“Good morning, Verity, it’s Margaret Vosper from the bank,” the husky voice on the other end announced.

“Hello, Margaret,” Verity greeted, setting her measuring cup aside. _Hmmm...Wonder if Ross has told her the bad news._ She frowned, clearing her throat. “Staying dry inside, I hope!”

Margaret gave a throaty chuckle. “This is one of those days I am very grateful to have an office job. Things on the farm still going well?”

“Very much,” Verity confirmed. “I’m hopeful I’ll have the last payment on my loan within the next few days.” Despite all of the side-eyeing she did at Ms Margaret Vosper’s decade-long pursuit of her cousin, the woman was good to know if one wished to start up a small business. Last year, Margaret had rocketed the application through the loan committee in record time after Verity decided to move house to Nampara and start her farmstand. She never knew whether the exceptional customer service had been down to the banker’s belief in the project or if she’d thought to score points with Ross.

“Always knew it would be a success, Verity,” Margaret affirmed as if she’d read Verity’s mind. “You’re a great investment. Please let me know if we can provide you with any additional services.”

Verity smiled. “I will, thank you!” She flashed a look at the yeast: it was ready. “You called the garage’s line. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes, well, I’d sent an email first thing this morning to let both of you know there’s a possible fraud alert on Ross’s Visa,” Margaret stated, all business.

“Really?” Verity blurted, pouring the yeast into the flour mixture. “He’s been in Ireland the last few da---”

“---Yes,” Margaret interrupted, “he’d placed an alert on his account to state he’d be in Ireland, but I hadn’t heard anything about the British Virgin Islands.”

Verity bobbled the cup which slipped from her fingers into the mixing bowl where it shattered against the edge. “What did you say?”

“Ross’s credit card was used for purchases in Tortola and Virgin Gorda in the British Virgin Islands yesterday,” Margaret explained. “I tried calling his mobile, but it transferred to the garage line.”

Verity’s mind raced. “Alright, Margaret,” she mumbled, unlocking the mixing bowl and binned its contents. “I’ll contact him and see if we can’t get to the bottom of this. Thanks for calling.”

“Shoot me an email, and we’ll get things sorted,” she confirmed. “Take care.”

Verity stabbed a finger at the phone, disconnecting the call. “What the hell?” she breathed. God, all she needed to deal with was muddling through a card fraud situation with her cousin out of the country. She rinsed her hands, blotted them dry on her apron and slid into her desk chair. She drummed her fingers on the keyboard to wake her desktop up, navigated to her browser, and Goggled “British Virgin Islands”.

When she clicked the first link, the splash page of the British Virgin Island Tourism site sprang to life, with scenes of paddleboarders, palm trees and couples walking on the beach causing her to draw in her breath and sigh. “Twenty-eight degrees,” she groaned at the widget on the top of the page. All of the sun and surf looked amazing, especially on a day like the one she was having. She smiled as her eyes traveled to the site navigation bar at the bottom of the page, scanning the page options. _The Islands, Travel and Transport, Stay, Experience, Local Info, Weddings and Ro---_

 

Andrew’s mobile buzzed as he filled the electric kettle for his tea, smiling when he saw Verity Poldark’s number pop up on the lock screen. They’d exchanged numbers after their impromptu meal the day before when she’d invited him to bring his children up to the farm some weekend in the not-too-distant future. He’d grinned like an idiot for the rest of the day as he’d thought about the time he’d spent with her. It was incredible to him that she hadn’t been snapped up by someone. Far be it from him not to explore the possibilities of getting to know such a warm and generous woman.

His thumb clicked “accept”, and he grinned as he raised the phone to his ear. “G’day, Ver---”

“THEY’VE ELOPED!” her voice thundered. The phone flew up into the air and straight into the kettle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has supported this work, from the beginning planning stages to now. I appreciate all of you who have told your friends and -- in some cases -- your family members about it and am happy you find it worth your time. My enduring gratitude for Rainpuddle, the mistress of the plot bunnies for sending this my way. Nampara Garage is the second fic I've written whose beginnings came from her fertile imagination, and she's done it again with a fic I'm sketching out, the working title of which is Truro College. More to come on that in a week or so. 
> 
> That doesn't mean I'm easing up on the gas on Garage...we've a wedding to go to, so stay tuned and thanks again, folks!


	19. Failure to Deploy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> A Modern Romelza AU.

“God dammit!” Andrew swore as his phone landed with a splash into the tea kettle.  
  
“Papa!” Emily, his daughter, exclaimed from the couch in their family room. “You said a bad word!”  
  
He swore silently to himself this time, dumping out the water and gingerly plucking the Samsung up by the corner. “I-I know, darling, I’m sorry,” he apologised, turning to face the little girl. “I shouldn’t have, no matter how upset I might be. Do you forgive me?”  
  
“You made me go to bed without any pudding when I misbehaved last night,” his son James said, petulantly.   _He would remember that now,_ Andrew thought to himself. They’d had strawberry tarts, a family favourite, and the boy had not enjoyed that one bit. It hadn’t helped that chicken pox had invaded the Blamey household with a vengeance, making both of the children fractious and miserable. Both of his kids were in their pyjamas, the exposed skin of their faces and hands speckled with angry, red sores he’d just finished dabbing with calamine lotion before he went to make that thrice-damned pot of tea.  
  
That’s when Hurricane Verity had called. He’d grabbed a dishtowel and patted the phone dry, turning it off for good measure. He remembered seeing a YouTube video with instructions for drying out a mobile and reached for a box of rice from the cupboard. “Very well, son, I will forego my pudding tonight,” Andrew offered. “Will that be fair?”  
  
“Yes, Papa,” James agreed, settling back against his pillow. Andrew brushed his palm along the top of his son’s curling, golden-brown hair. “May I have some tea, please?”  
  
“Oh, yes, sorry,” Andrew said, shaking his head. He set the phone down, refilled the kettle and put it on base. While he waited, he ripped the top from the box of rice and shoved the mobile in. There. Once he had hot cups of honey-laden tea in his children’s hands and _Zootopia_ on the telly, he picked up his laptop. “Now, I need to make a phone call in my office. I’ll be right back.” He stepped through the French doors dividing the family room from his office space, settled at his desk and flipped over his computer. He opened his email program and, scrolling through his files, found the last one he’d received from Verity. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the receiver and dialled her number.  
  
“Nampara Farms, Verity speaking,” she said. Her voice sounded distant and worried. He hated that.  
  
“Verity, it’s Andrew,” he said.  
  
“Well,” she snapped. “What in the hell happened to you? Need to make a call to your boss to let her know the cat’s out of the bag?”  
  
“I—”  
  
“—I’ve just spent the last five minutes attempting to reach my stupid, idiotic cousin in the BRITISH VIRGIN ISLANDS, to no avail!” she barked.  
  
“Well, it’s half past seven in the morning there, Verity,” Andrew cut in, “so if I were to guess, they’re just waking up.” He blinked as a string of curse words blistered his eardrum. “Look, I didn’t call to warn them, dammit!“ he hissed, hoping he’d not been heard by the children lest he was to be without his pud for a week. "The reason we were disconnected was that I dropped my bloody mobile in my electric kettle!”  
  
“And when–what?” She paused for a full five seconds. “You dropped your mobile in your tea kettle?” she asked. Her cough did not entirely cover up what he suspiciously thought was a laugh.  
  
“Yes,” he groused.  
  
This time, she didn’t bother trying to cover it up. “Oh dear.” Her giggles turned into guffaws. He glowered at the phone. He would have appreciated the generous gaiety of her laughter if he hadn't been quite so annoyed. “Well,” she wheezed. He imagined she was mopping tears of hilarity from her lovely cheeks. “I suppose that’s punishment enough for keeping the news from me.”

“Thanks for that,” he muttered.

"Now that I know, I need to know it all." She took a deep breath. "Can I come to your office?”  
  
Andrew blinked. The prospect of seeing her again, even under these circumstances, sent a thrill through his body. “I’m sorry, no, I’m working from home today,” he said, regret replacing his embarrassment. “My children are home ill.”  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Andrew,” she murmured. “I hope it’s nothing too serious.”  
  
“Chickenpox,” he said, glancing at the two of them, cuddled up on the couch together. “And they were scheduled for their immunisation next week.”  
  
“The poor things,” she said softly. “I remember having them when I was a kid. Calamine lotion and oatmeal baths for days.” They chuckled until they trailed into a nervous silence. “Andrew?”  
  
“Yes?” he said, startled.  
  
"Well, if you don’t find this too forward, would you mind if I came by your house?” she asked. “I’ve got the makings for some chicken soup here, and I’d be happy to bring it for them to eat if they’ve an appetite for it.”

The words had come out in a nervous rush, and he could picture the blush that must have been on her face for his own felt heated, so charmed was he by her. “Not forward at all. That’s very generous of you to offer, Verity,” Andrew stated, grinning broadly.

“I do have ulterior motives, of course, so I can’t take full credit for the offer being solely of an altruistic nature,” she added, unnecessarily.

He chuckled. “I swear, it was on my mind to ring you with the news,” he stated. “It will be a pleasure to have you over. I’ll email the address. And Verity? Thank you.” He was up and moving as soon as they’d disconnected. A gnarly t-shirt and pyjama bottoms were okay for a sick day at home with the kids. With one more glance at the couch in the family room, he retreated to his en suite for a shower.

 

She arrived thirty minutes later, wearing a bright yellow raincoat, floral-print Wellies and a smile. “Hi,” she said shyly, slipping the hood of her coat off of her head.

“Hi,” Andrew responded. God, he felt like an idiotic teenager.

She held up a large Tupperware container. “Chicken soup, with noodles. I thought they might like them,” she offered, pausing at the threshold. “Wellies on or off?”

It was considerate of her to ask, and he appreciated it. “Off, please, but we have a bench in here, just for this purpose.” He relieved her of the soup and stood back, opening the door wider. “Please, come in.” She walked past him and sat on the bench. “Would you like a pair of slippers?”

She shook her head. “I’ve some nice, thick socks on that will do just fine.” She looked up at him. “How are your children?”

“Fallen asleep in front of Zootopia,” he grinned, picturing them cuddled together on the couch. “I think we’ll have plenty of time to talk before they’re awake.” He looked down at her feet, so small and petite, encased in soft-pink, woolly socks. She stood, and he took her coat, standing close enough to detect the scent of coconut in her hair. He gestured nervously towards his office. “This way.”

They walked through the living room. Verity didn’t know it, but she was the first person Andrew had invited to the new home he’d purchased for him and the children to start their new life, free of the ghosts of Australia. Aside from one, of course; his late wife, Allira remained a presence in his life whenever he looked at the faces of his children. Children who had begun to have difficulty remembering who she was. He had to keep in mind that it had been five years since that horrible evening and they’d been far too young to have much of a memory of those days.

He hadn’t touched the settlement he’d received from the automobile company, blood money awarded to compensate for Allira’s death due to the faulty airbag that failed to open. Not until the move to the UK had begun to look like it could happen, rather than the pipe dream he’d once thought it to be. Allira, of all people, would have wanted him to give their children the best life he could, just as he would have if he’d been the one to die in the crash.

Reflexively, he ran his left hand against his neck, where the burn he’d sustained from his air bag's deployment had healed well enough. The failure of Allira’s to open would have resulted in critical, potentially survivable injuries if she’d worn her seatbelt. But she hadn’t when Andrew failed to yield at the roundabout, and they all but T-boned the Toyota at over seventy-two kilometres per hour. She’d been declared dead at the scene.

Andrew and the children went to hospital. He’d sustained the burns to his neck and cheek, a broken ankle and fractured knee. Both of the kids, who’d been in car seats, had come through the accident nearly unscathed. The police arrived three days after he’d come out of surgery to question him and, with his brother, a solicitor, by his side, he’d recalled the details.

_“We’d been heading home from Allira’s parents home,” Andrew said. “There’d been an argument.”_

_“An argument about what, Mr Blamey?” Jackson, the gruff, older detective asked._

Jackson must be Bad Cop, _Andrew frowned to himself. “What it was always about. My wife’s drinking.”_

_“You mean to say your wife had a drinking problem, Mr Blamey?”_

_He nodded, unable to speak._ Had. _They were speaking of Allira in the past tense because that’s what one did when you referred to the dead. A tear crept down Andrew’s face. He took a sip of water. “Did you test her blood like you did mine?” He didn’t add anything else, nothing about the visit they’d had from the Department of Child Protection the week before about a report of child neglect that had been made against her by one of their neighbours. They’d noticed Emily toddling about on the driveway near the street. When they’d gone to check, they’d discovered the front door open, the baby, screaming in his crib, his nappy soaking wet and Allira unconscious on the floor, a bottle of vodka inches from her fingers. The incident that had started them down the path to where they were today: his wife of four years, dead; his children, motherless and Andrew being questioned by the police._

_“That will be done at the post-mortem, Mr Blamey, which will be conducted today. We will ask them to expedite the results of our investigation,” Killoran, the younger detective queried._

_And here’s Good Cop. “I would say I was frustrated and angry, as I always am -- I mean always was -- when Allira had too much to drink. But not so much that I would have been a danger on the road. And I hadn’t been drinking, you got the results from the blood tests, right?”_

_Killoran nodded. “BAC of zero, yes, Mr Blamey. So what happened next?”_

_“We were heading home to South Kalgoorlie from my in-law’s home in Kambalda East on Goldfields Highway. Allira was almost hysterical, shouting about what had happened. We’d attempted an intervention, you see, and she was having none of it. I was asking her to calm down, that she’d wake the baby. But she just kept at it and, sure enough, James started crying.” Andrew grimaced, the pain of his ankle and knee quite severe. He’d asked to be taken off of the heavy-duty painkillers as soon after surgery as possible. He was beginning to regret that decision but needed his head clear for this. “She started to unfasten her seatbelt to reach back to calm the baby. I told her to wait and let me pull over. She didn’t. The seat belt came off, and she leaned back between the seats over the console. I yelled at her to put it back on.” He took a breath. “I swear, I took my eyes off the road for just a second. I didn’t see the car pulling out from Anzac Drive onto the roundabout until it was too late.” The next moments had passed as if they were moving in slow motion. The explosion of the airbag, searing pain from the burns. Allira’s body thrown backwards, the sickening thud of the back of her head striking the windscreen. The terrible cries of the children in the back seat. Metallic grinding of the jaws of life as they tore the car in two. Tears, so many tears. “Much of my memory after the crash is hazy. I do remember hearing the medic say Allira was dead.”_

He’d been released from the hospital the following day and arrested for vehicular homicide for Allira, and vehicular assault for the occupant of the Toyota had been injured as well; major, non-life-threatening injuries that had required several days in the intensive care unit, weeks of hospitalisation and months of physical therapy. Sam Carne, his boss, had paid his bail. Andrew's sense of gratitude for Sam’s immediate support to them all had been boundless. It was Sam, along with Andrew’s in-laws, who convinced him to inform the police of the child endangerment allegations before they discovered it themselves. It had sickened him to do so, for as much as Allira’s drinking frustrated him; he’d loved her with every fibre of his being and had not wanted to speak ill of her. He’d also known, of course, the original charges levied against him would never stand the minute the news of the pending endangerment investigation was revealed. Allira’s alcoholism had been deemed partially responsible for her death. With Sam’s financial assistance for Andrew’s legal defence, it had been only a matter of time before a plea agreement was agreed upon and that Andrew eventually, reluctantly, signed. Guilty of two counts of vehicular assault, sentenced to two years suspended, electronic monitoring and the loss of his licence for the duration of his conviction.

Allira’s parents, grief-stricken by the loss of their only daughter, merely sat subdued in court when the judgment was handed down. They hadn’t expected the justice system to pursue the more serious charges, such a typical situation in the Aboriginal community. Sam had encouraged filing a lawsuit against the car company for the mechanical failure of her airbag, which was quietly settled out of court. He’d won, but how could one win when the loss had been so very high?

 _Jesus, where did that come from_ , he thought to himself as he escorted Verity into his office. Well, it wasn’t too difficult a thing to correlate: she was one of a handful of women who had been able to lift his gaze from his role as the widowed father of two marvellous kids to see himself, once again, as a man with his hopes, dreams and needs. And as it had always done, a flicker of guilt raced through his veins. This time, however, he was determined to make that twinge the last he experienced.

“Please, have a seat,” he gestured to the sofa. “Can I get you a coffee or tea?”

She dimpled. “I think I should say coffee because I guess you’re still at war with the tea kettle.”

“Oh, that’s good,” he chortled. “You can have either, I promise. I’ve not hurled the stupid thing out the window yet. Especially since, if I’m honest, I’m the stupid thing.” He grinned. “So, coffee or tea?”

“Tea, please,” Verity said. He nodded and took the container of soup to the kitchen. Five minutes later, he’d returned with a tray. “The full-service tea shop, this?”

“Only the best, my dear,” he said, adopting as posh an English accent as he could muster. She giggled as he set the tray down and eased the French doors closed. “I have some scones leftover from breakfast. I’m sure they’re nowhere near as good as yours, but it’s the best I could do with these two under the weather.”

She picked one up, breaking off a piece and slipping it between her lips. “You made these?” she asked, covering her mouth as she chewed. “They’re delicious!”

“Thanks.” Andrew coloured and worried, for the first time, if she’d notice the burn. Whenever he blushed, it became more apparent. Sure enough, her soft brown eyes flickered towards his cheek for an instant before returning to meet his own. Best change the subject. “So, do you still want to know everything?”

“Yes,” she said, emphatically. “Oh, please, Andrew. Don’t get me wrong, I like Demelza very much, and it’s been wonderful to see Ross so happy. He went through a horrible breakup last year, and hasn’t seen anyone since then. But this?” She set her cup down and leant forward. “When they called you to purchase the tickets: did you know they planned to elope?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I received an email from Demelza asking me to book the airfare for two to the British Virgin Islands.” He sighed. “It didn’t take me long to sort it out.”

“Then why didn’t you try to talk them out of it?” Verity cried, shifting her left leg under her so she faced him, dead on. “You’re a reasonable man, Andrew, older and wiser than her, than my cousin as well. I’m sure they would have listened to your counsel.”

He squirmed a bit in his seat before mirroring her posture, thankful it was his good knee, until they almost touched. “I didn’t feel I was in a position to...to try to talk her out of it, or even to offer her advice.”

She looked as though she wanted to say something but paused, thoughtful. “She’s your employer,” she murmured.

“Exactly,” Andrew stated. “I, too, like Demelza very much, but we are not friends, not yet at least. I’ve only been working with her for a little more than a month, and we’ve got on well in that short period of time. It’s really her brother Samuel whom I know well.” _Steer away from history, Andrew. Keep it light._ “So, while she and I are cordial with one another, we maintain a professional distance.” He paused. “Or, at least I know I’m trying to.”

She touch his leg with her fingers. He felt a jolt of desire thrum deep in his bones. “That sounds almost impossible to accomplish,” Verity said, her brow furrowed.

He sipped his tea. “It can be challenging at times. Demelza is a young executive, one of the most accomplished that I’ve seen, but the line between professional and personal interests has become…permeable in the last few weeks.”

“Ever since she and Ross started seeing one another,” Verity muttered.

“That is true. I think we’ve managed fairly well, but it’s never been as challenging as it was last Saturday.”

“That’s when they decided to elope,” Verity stated, the corners of her lips turning down. She sighed heavily, setting her cup on the table. “I assume you know about the misunderstanding that happened a few weeks back.”

“Yes, I’m aware of some of the details, but not everything,” Andrew said, “and that’s how I’d prefer it to remain.”

She cocked her head. “I understand that, Andrew, and wish to respect your boundaries, but I can’t help but think Ross has rushed into this thing because of what happened with Elizabeth, his ex-fiancée,” Verity said. “And to truly appreciate the situation you’ll need to know a little about what happened." She shared some of the circumstances surrounding Ross’s break up with her. He schooled his expression to remain neutral, but inside he was flabbergasted. For Ross to discover her with his own cousin? That would be enough to turn anyone away from opening their heart once again.

And to do so with someone who had, for lack of another word, tricked him into thinking she was someone else? “Crikey,” Andrew said.

“Now do you see?” She stood and paced the room. She’d worn a lightweight, ruby-red tunic and the hemline flared out whenever she turned. The black leggings had drawn his attention a time or two, for they flattered her curvy legs very much. “My cousin can be quick, reckless and impulsive at times. He must have wanted to grab at this chance at happiness before something else came along to challenge it.” She stopped, the suddenness causing his head to jerk up to meet her eyes. Had she noticed him staring at her legs? God. How embarrassing. “So, it wouldn’t surprise me if he were the one to suggest it, but I am rather perplexed that Demelza would go along with it.”

“To tell you the truth, so am I,” Andrew agreed. Verity resumed her pacing, nibbling on her thumbnail, which he found endearing. She could be shoveling snow and he would find her endearing. He shoved his glasses onto his forehead, rubbed his eyes and let the tortoise-shell frames slide back into place. “I’m to call Demelza today, in a few moments as a matter of fact.” Verity stopped pacing, a seeking look in her eyes. “Her uncle and father wish to speak with her about this little trip of hers.”

“Oh, no,” Verity breathed, hurrying back to the sofa. She sat, her knee touching his. She didn’t move it away, doubling-down by placing her hand on it. “Is she in trouble?”

Did Verity know what she was doing to him? He didn’t think so. “I don’t think so,” he answered. “I hope not. We’re five hours ahead of them, so it’s just a little past seven o’clock in the morning there. I’ve sent her a text to let her know I’m going to call her.” He swallowed, gathered his nerve and laid his hand over hers. “Do you want to be here when I do?”

“Oh, yes, Andrew, please,” she cried, clasping his hand. “I sent Ross a couple of texts after--” She paused, smirking. “After you and I were cut off.” Andrew couldn’t help but smile in return. “He hasn’t responded and he’s got all calls going to his mobile transferred to the garage line. so calling him is useless.”

“Let me check on the children,” Andrew offered. “It would be best if we called while they’re still napping. I’ll be right back.” He squeezed her hand and went into the family room, hoping he wasn’t about to crash a wedding.

~*~*~*~*

Ross yawned hugely, scratching his belly and shivering through a full-body stretch in his bachelor’s bed. Last night for that, mate, he thought to himself. Nerves popped along in his gut as he thought about what would happen less than twelve hours from then. His bride-to-be had been delightful over dinner the night before, giving him strict instructions to be in his room by four o’clock tomorrow, so she could sneak back from her spa day to finish dressing without being seen. She’d suggested he do the same, but he’d declined, planning instead to do a little sightseeing and swimming until it was time to ready for their wedding.

 _Perhaps a visit to a barber_ , he thought to himself when the scrubbed his face with his hand. Definitely more than scruffy. He swung his feet onto the floor and picked up his mobile to check the weather forecast for the evening and saw the bright, red number four hovering above his text app. He’d forwarded his phone to the garage line back home and told Verity to let them go to voicemail until he returned. Any urgent business could be handled via text. He tapped the app, his eyes widening as he scanned the messages:

 _From: Verity Poldark_  
_To: Ross Poldark_  
_30/05/2017 04:43_  
  
_BRITISH VIRGIN ISLANDS? WTF?!_

“Well, fuck me.” He was on his feet in seconds.

 _From: Verity Poldark_  
_To: Ross Poldark_ _  
_ _30/05/2017 04:5_ 2

_THE BANK CALLED ABOUT CHARGES ON YOUR CREDIT CARD, YOU TWAT. I THOUGHT YOU’D BEEN HACKED OR SOMETHING, BUT NO._

_From: Verity Poldark_  
_To: Ross Poldark_ _  
_ _30/05/2017 04:5_ 4

_I HAVE FIGURED OUT WHAT YOU’RE DOING, YOU STUPID, BLEEDING IDIOT. IF YOU DON’T CALL ME THIS INSTANT I SWEAR I WILL LOCK GARRICK IN YOUR STUPID MANCAVE UNTIL YOU HAVE THE BALLS TO RETURN FROM YOUR HONEYMOON AS MY WEDDING GIFT TO YOU._

_YOU KNOW HE ISN’T HOUSEBROKEN._

“Shit!” _So much for the mystery._ And _literal_ shit, if he wasn’t careful about this. He scrabbled around for his boxer briefs, popping open the fourth message with his other hand.

 _From: Verity Poldark_  
_To: Ross Poldark_  
_30/05/2017 05:25_  
  
_DEMELZA’S ASSISTANT ANDREW HAS FIGURED IT OUT AS WELL. I AM GOING OVER THERE TO FIND OUT WHAT ELSE HE KNOWS ABOUT THIS...CALL ME NOW._

“Demelza.” His heart hammered in his chest. Had she heard from them yet? He tucked the phone in his armpit, scrambled into his boxer briefs and bolted for the door. Seconds later he was hammering on the master bedroom door. “Dee!” he called. “I’m coming in there, love.” He threw open the door to find her sitting up in bed, her eyes filled with tears. He was by her side in seconds, pulling her into his embrace. “What is it, sweetheart? What’s happened?” She handed him her mobile, the app for text messages open on the screen.

 _From: Andrew Blamey_  
_To: Demelza Carne_  
_30/05/2017 03:29_  
_  
Demelza, your uncle was a bit distressed by your extended vacation plans. I need to call you today to make arrangements for a conference call with him, your father and Sam as soon as possible. I’ll call you first thing in the morning to talk. Andrew_

 

Ross swore under his breath, handing the phone back to Demelza. She sniffled, her head tucked into the curve of his neck and shoulder. “This is very serious, isn’t it?

She nodded. “I told you about Uncle Howard the other day.”

“Yes, I remember. The tosser.”

“I love you.” She kissed his neck, smiling against his throat.

“And I you,” he whispered in her ear. _Time to do the grown-up thing._ He swallowed, gave her a squeeze, and leaned back to look at her. “We should go back.”

“No!” She tensed in his arms, her hands shoving at his chest. “How can you even suggest that, Ross? After everything we’ve talked about, and planned?”

“Well, I don’t want to, of course I don’t,” he countered, “but the last thing I want is to have this cause you problems at work. Based on what you’ve told me, your uncle can cause you a great deal of difficulties.” No sense keeping the rest from her. ”I’ve a couple texts from Verity, too, although I’ve no idea how she found out.”

“What?” she exclaimed, the worry amplified in her eyes.

He handed her his mobile. “It must have been the shopping yesterday. It triggered an alert on my card, so the bank called her to confirm I was here in Tortola.” She scrolled through, her lips forming an O. “Didn't think of that. Whoops.”

She returned his phone, cuddling back in his lap. “Oh, Ross. What are we going to do?”

He let out a breath, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “We’re not going to do anything at the moment,” he said, rising to his feet. “C’mon. I’m starving.” He gave her hand a tug. She wore her Minnie Mouse sleep shirt again and looked adorable despite her tears. He brushed them free from her cheeks with his thumbs. “Coffee and something to eat, first. Then we’ll make our plans.” He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her as he’d wanted the moment he’d seen her. She sighed, wrapping her arms around his waist, her hands splaying across his back across his shoulder blades. Minutes later, he drew back, nuzzling her nose with the tip of his own. “Good morning, my love.” She gave him a shaky smile and they left for the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, they settled in on the couch near their pool, a big bowl of yoghurt, berries and muesli between them and were tucking in when Demelza’s mobile rang. She looked at it as if it were made of poison. He took the bowl from her hand. “Go on. Answer it.”

She tapped answer, followed by the speaker button. “Hi, Andrew.”

“Good morning, Demelza.” Andrew’s voice was clear, crisp and professional. “You got my text?”

“Yes, about thirty minutes ago,” she said. “It’s a little after seven here on what is supposed to be our wedding day.” Ross could hear Verity’s “Oh, God” in the background and winced. “What’s happened?”

“We had our weekly Executive Council call yesterday afternoon,” Andrew stated. “Before we could get to any of the agenda items, your uncle...strongly expressed his concerns about what he called ‘her erratic behavior’ over the last few weeks.”

“When we first met,” Ross whispered. He watched what little colour remaining in Demelza’s face seep away.

“That’s what I thought,” Verity spoke up. “Ross, how could you? Put her in such risk?”

“Wait, just wait,” Ross said, raising his voice. “Listen,” he said to the pair back in England, “Verity, I’m going to call you on your mobile we can talk and leave Demelza and Andrew to discuss business.”

Demelza clasped his hand. “No, I’ve no secrets from you, Ross---”

“---And I love and appreciate that about you, I do.” He sighed. “I think it would be best if we get the initial stuff out of the way separately, before we have a four-way conversation about anything else.” He cupped Demelza’s cheek and smiled when he saw understanding in her eyes. “Give me ten, maybe fifteen minutes at the most.” He kissed her. “Verity?” he called, “ringing you now.”

He stood, dialing Verity’s mobile number while walking to the alcove overlooking the sea. It rang twice before her agitated voice crackled through the speaker. “Ross? Have the pair of you lost your minds?” she cried, worry and anger tightening it to the point where it trembled near tears.

“Not the last time I checked,” he quipped, attempting to draw some humour into the situation.

It didn’t work. “You slink out of the country, without so much as a by your leave, to dash off to the tropics to get married? You can’t do this!”

“Well, yes, of course we can,” he responded, irked. “I had a good look at our passports the other day. We are two, consenting adults of legal age and are in compliance with the laws of this land, thank you very much. And, as a grown man, I don’t have to give you or anyone, for that matter, a head’s up about what I do with my life.”

“Ross, I---“

“---You are my cousin, not my mother,” he snapped. Several seconds of silence on the other end of the line before he heard a sob. Damn it. Women and their tears were his kryptonite. “Shit, Verity, I’m sorry.” More sobs. “Seriously, I’m so sorry to have upset you, sweetheart, please don’t cry.”

“These are tears of frustration, anger, worry and sadness!” she cried, her nose stuffy. “YOU put them there, you twat, so YOU have to shut up and give me a moment to get them out of my system.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, chastened. She’d never allow him to pat her on her head or beg her to stop crying, even when they were children. Fortunately, Verity’s temper was one that flared fast and mellowed quickly. He was forced to sit and listen to her until the steam had blown out of her temper. He knew it was safe when he heard her start to hum. “Do you have some tea on hand?”

“Yes,” she said hoarsely. “Just a minute.” Several more moments of silence before she was back and clearing her throat. “Alright,” she said. “Explain.”

“It’s been a whirlwin---”

“---I’ll say it has been, oh, damn,” she grumped and caught herself. “I’m sorry. Go on.”

“As I was saying, this thing with Demelza has been a whirlwind, not only the situation we find ourselves in right now, but from the very start.”

“I know,” she muttered. “I was there when it started, remember? And witnessed it blowing up in your face.”

“Yes, and – if you’ll recall – partially responsible for keeping things going, too.” He arched an eyebrow while he watching a pelican cruise by. “That lamb stew didn’t make itself, you know.”

“Fair point.” Silence. “But to run off and elope, Ross?” she blurted. “And even if I was cheering the two of you on from the sidelines, how was I to know your first getaway weekend would involve marriage vows?”

He rolled his eyes. “I know it sounds crazy,” he went on before she could launch into another tirade, “and I know it’s been barely a month since I met her. But Verity, I _know_.” He glanced over his shoulder to see Demelza on the patio, her tablet in hand as she talked with Andrew. “The time we had in Ireland was…” He scoured his brain to find the right words to convey what they’d meant. “It was transformative. We shared everything happening in our lives, the good and the bad, the past and the present. We talked about the differences between our incomes, and the challenges we’d face because of it. We talked about kids, what a life together might look like.” Perhaps sooner than originally anticipated, but he’d keep that information to himself. “In the end, it was just that simple a decision, for both of us. I know that she’s the person I’m meant to be with for the rest of my life.”

“Why must it be like this?” she asked. “Only the two of you, with no family or friends by you when you make this promise to one another?”

He could hear the tears returning in her voice. He experienced a moment of regret for he knew this was what lay at the center of the situation. “I know. You’re the only family I would want with me today, cousin.” His throat tightened when he heard her start to cry. “Please don’t cry, Verity.”

“I can’t help it!” she said brokenly.

“Darling, Demelza and I both knew there would be…sharp reactions from our families---“

“---You mean serious drama,” she interrupted.

“Yes,” Ross admitted. “We are bound to have them regardless of whether we openly announced our intentions or not. We…we wanted this moment for us to have between us.” He paused, praying he’d got through to her. She’d grown so quiet he wondered if she were still on the line. “Verity?”

“I’m still here,” she said before blowing her nose. “And I do understand. I suppose I’m feeling a bit sorry for myself, not being able to see my favourite cousin get married.”

Relief flooded him. “Well,” he quipped, “I am your _only_ cousin.”

“You know what I mean!” she grumbled.

“I can tell you we plan to come home to Nampara as soon as we return on Saturday, so you’ll be the first person we see,” he stated. “Does that help to take some of the sting away, sweetheart?”

“Only if you let me treat you to brunch on Sunday,” she demanded.

“Agreed, as long as it’s a late brunch,” he laughed. “And I promise to send you pictures.” He took a deep breath. “I love you, Verity.”

“I love you, too,” she warbled. “Be happy today.”

“I am,” he replied, his own throat growing tight. “So, so happy.”

He hung up the phone and turned to walk back to the house. “I’ll send over the proposal for our Irish deal in an hour, Andrew,” Demelza said, her voice raised to be heard over her mobile’s speaker. “And I’ll talk to all of you tomorrow noon my time.”

“Thank you, Demelza,” Andrew said.

“Defer any issues they may have directly to me,” she added. “I will deal with them.” Ross had never heard the steely tone she was using and hoped to never be on the receiving end of it himself. She glanced up and smiled at him, setting her tablet aside on the coffee table and moving over on the couch to make space for him. “Ross is back, Andrew. Is Verity with you now?”

“She is, but she’s a little upse---“

“I am not,” Verity’s voice broke in on Andrew’s. Her nose sounded quite stuffy.

Demelza’s brows snapped together. “What did you say to her, Ross?”

“Nothing!” he barked. “Well, nothing mu -- Verity? Tell her!”

“No, Demelza,” Verity sniffled, “he didn’t say anything to hurt me. I understand why you’ve come to this decision, so that’s a weight off my mind. I only wish I could be there with you.”

Demelza smiled warmly, slipping her hand into Ross’s. “That would have been brilliant, Verity. Did he tell you we plan to come to Nampara when we get home?”

“Yes, he did, so I’ll look forward to hearing all about it when you get back,” she said.

“Andrew,” Ross said, toying with Demelza’s engagement ring. “Please make sure my cousin is alright, for me?”

There was a pause and if Ross was a betting man, he’d bet that Verity would not mind that in the last. “It will be my pleasure, Ross,” Andrew said. “Now, we should let you two go. Wishing you both the best, today and all days.”

“Thanks, Andrew,” they said together, smiling at each other. The line went dead and she crossed her legs over his lap and cuddled close. “Well, it’s not the way I wanted us to start this day, but I have to admit it feels a little better, knowing we’ve well-wishers at home.”

Ross nodded. “We…we will have some kind of formal acknowledgement once we return,” he offered. “A reception or something like that.”

“One of those big, splashy things you love so much?” she teased. He made a face. “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“So,” Ross sighed, toying with a strand of her hair. “How bad was the news from work?”

She frowned. “We talk about it now, and then not again until after my call tomorrow, okay?” He nodded. “Andrew was the one who suggested the call in order to keep my father’s blood pressure down. He’s still recovering from that heart attack he had three months ago, remember?”

“How can I forget? It’s what brought you back from South Africa,” Ross stated. “Is he truly as fragile as that?”

“He would say no, but I’ll not take any chances,” she said. “He’s a stubborn, old thing and I love him madly. I want him to be around for years to come.” She took a sip of her coffee, crinkling her nose at finding it cold. “I don’t plan to tell them about the wedding tomorrow. That needs to happen face to face.” Ross let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. She took his hand. “And with you standing with me.”

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her wrist before capturing her lips with his own. “Name the day and I’ll be there,” he murmured.

“June 21st, darling,” she responded, returning his kiss with one of her own. “We have a second quarter board meeting that day. We can announce there and have a reception that evening.”

Ross blinked. “B-But, that’s two weeks away, love. Do you think we can keep this news under wraps until then?”

“We can do our best,” she said. “I know we can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, I need to thank my dear friend Osmarinamo aka Mazza. She's been supportive of all my works, was chiefly responsible for my first AU fic bunny, Cottage by the Copse and is my biggest cheerleader whenever I let the smutty side of my personality run rampant. She provided me a massive amount of research about life in Australia, the Aboriginal peoples and their culture and did the first read-through of Andrew's backstory to make sure I wasn't being inaccurate or disrespectful to the first peoples of that continent. Thank you so much, my dear friend...I could not have done this without you.
> 
> Many thanks to Rainpuddle for her continued support of this and all of the AUs I have going these days. I've published a HEAP of stuff the last few days... I need to focus some time on Townhouse so I'll plan to visit these fics as a break from Townhouse. Take care everyone, and thank you so much for all of the kudos, comments and recommendations to your friends. It's most appreciated.


	20. Crown Wheel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crown wheel = Ring wheel... see what I did there? :-)

It was half-past four o’clock when Demelza walked into the condo. She’d been massaged with hot stones, exfoliated with ginger and marula seed extract (whatever that was), her nails mani’ed and pedi’ed to perfection. Her hair was set on rollers the size of soda cans, the hairdresser scheduled to arrive within moments. Despite all of the pampering and relaxation, a low, steaming temper continued to simmer from her morning video conference with the rellies.

Her uncle had been in rare form today despite the full report she’d given from the Dublin conference, including three meetings set to discuss Letters of Agreement with three diamond mines in Canada. Howard Carne had all but leapt on top of her the instant she’d finished. “You’ve been on the job for barely a month, Demelza!” he’d barked, his wide, florid face mottled with angry colour. “If your delicate sensibilities require you take this much time away for rest and relaxation, I feel confident in my plan to approach the board at the end of the month with my concerns.”

“Howard,” her father had interrupted.

_ “No, Da, let me respond,” she insisted gently before flicking her angry eyes at her uncle’s quadrant on her screen. “Howard, I resent your tone. I am not a child to be ordered about.” Her voice was calm and steely cold. “I have spent more than eighty hours a week since I received the call about my father’s heart attack. I have given my all to ramp up on all of the responsibilities a person in my position must perform in record time, as our M&A report, our quarterly financials and the results of our employee satisfaction survey imply.” She waited a moment to let those accolades settle. “In addition, I conducted business while I was in Colorado, as you well know, settling a potential strike by the workers at our Denver processing unit with minimal expense to the company, so you can hardly consider that trip a frivolity. The company will get my full attention as soon as I return. For now, however, I am taking a well-deserved break.” She took a breath. “Now, I’ve sent Andrew all of my preliminary reports for your review and have scheduled a meeting to review the final versions with you next Monday. Anything else we need to discuss?” _

_ There was a long silence. “Uh, no I think that’s sufficient, for now,” Howard grumbled somewhat petulantly. _

_ “Excellent,” she stated with finality. She blew out a sigh, her thoughts gentling now that she’d settled the matter. “Andrew, will you send the reports and your notes from this meeting as soon as we disconnect?” she asked. “I want to make certain we’re all crystal clear about our path forward.” _

_ “Right-o, Demelza,” Andrew responded. “Should have them out within the hour.” _

_ “Thanks.” She arched a brow at her father’s image on her screen. “You get some rest, Da,” she murmured, “and try not to overdo it, okay?” _

_ “I won’t, darling,” her father promised. “Your sister-in-law Emma is seeing to that.” _

_ She laughed. “Please thank her for me, Sam, will you?” _

_ “No worries, Demelza,” her brother said reassuringly. Demelza grinned at the way Sam’s time in Australia had infused his accent with some of the broader vowel tones she’d come to know better with Andrew’s presence in her life. “She sends her love. Don’t worry about anything else until you get back, and I’m sorry we had to disturb you on your vacation. Love you.” _

It was nice to know she had some sensible people in her family.

_ Enough of that.  _ She padded towards her room, tingling with anticipation. It would be  _ their _ room in just a few more hours. She’d missed Ross’s presence next to her in the night, and was glad she’d not have to after tonight. Except for business trips, she fully intended to sleep by his side for the rest of her life.

She opened the door and gasped. The room had been tidied by housekeeping, as expected, but she found a beautiful bouquet of flowers sitting in the middle of the bed.  _ Her _ wedding bouquet. A little squeal left her throat. She picked it up, burying her nose in the tropical flowers, breathing in the heady scent of the islands. She beamed, opening the envelope she’d found near the bouquet.

> _ Dee, _
> 
> _ I’ve gone into town to get myself cleaned up. Hope you like the flowers, sweetheart. I’ll see you on the beach at six. _
> 
> _ I love you, _
> 
> _ Ross _

Howard Carne could go hang. Demelza had a wedding to attend.

~*~*~*~*~

“Thank you for standing for us, Kendra,” Ross smiled at the property manager for the condominium complex. She was a jolly, middle-aged woman with beautiful salt and pepper dreadlocks that reached the small of her back.

“It’s my pleasure, Mr Poldark,” she chirped. She looked him over and giving him a wink. “I’d have never believed you were the same person that I met Sunday evening when you arrived to the islands!”

“Amazing what a good barber can do,” he chuckled, running his hand over his freshly-shaved cheek and chin. “Thank you,” he offered as he warmed under her admiring gaze. The trip to the barber had cost a bit more than he usually spent for a shave and a trim, but he’d had to admit they’d done an awesome job. Capped off with the breezy, ivory linen suit and periwinkle blue dress shirt he’d got in Road Town the day before and he’d had to admit he looked like a groom ready for his wedding day. The one thing he hadn’t been required to purchase for the occasion was a pair of shoes. Bare feet were the only thing that made sense for an island beach wedding and he wiggled his toes in the white sand near the end of the pathway from their condo. “I also appreciate you picking up the Registrar-General for us. I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage that, especially since we don’t have a car.”

She squeezed his forearm. “You had enough on your plate, Mr Poldark. Besides,” she continued, glancing in the direction of the short, portly man near the shoreline, “he just so happens to be my cousin, so it was lovely to chat with him on the way up from town. He’s staying over to visit with the family, so you won’t have to worry about the expenses for his transportation.” She slipped Ross a discrete envelope that he tucked away in the inside breast pocket of his suit.  Ross grinned, thanking her before she returned to her cousin’s side, their island patois relaxing some of the tension that had eased into his shoulders. 

While forty dollars might not sound like much to some, for him it meant he’d be able to pick up the rest of the groceries for their stay without delving once more into the rapidly dwindling plastic currency in his wallet. He’d managed not to become obsessed with the small fortune they were spending on this trip, but he’d found the closer they got to the wedding the more his thoughts would trundle along the future state of their life as a couple, and finances would comprise a substantial part of that life.

_ A few moments before their wedding certainly wasn’t the time to sit down with Demelza and start hammering out a household budget, you prat, _ he thought to himself. There would be time enough for that when he got home.  _ That _ particular prospect made him smile. He’d spent some time Skyping with Verity after Demelza had left for the spa, going over a little surprise he had in store for his new bride and something he’d wanted to set into motion before they returned to Nampara. Verity had agreed to postpone the renovation of the cottage’s ground floor guest room so that the allocated monies could go towards adding a larger fridge and a cooktop in the first floor waiting lounge at the garage. It would do as a rudimentary kitchen for the two of them -- and something he knew Paul Daniel and his handyman capabilities could knock out in a couple of days -- until Ross and Demelza made any final decisions about where they would settle.

He’d been honest with her: there was a part of him that would love living in the spacious penthouse she had in town. All of the amenities would make the commute to and from the garage worth it, especially if it involved the hot tub, some fine whiskey, and her. And not necessarily in that order. But they were going to have to keep their marriage a secret for several weeks and he didn’t think his sudden appearance on the residential floors of Carnemore Square would help with that.

He took a deep breath, soaking in the beauty of the sun as it began its journey towards the horizon. The sky was a spectacular azure blue, edging towards the indigo of sunset, and the sea was a crystalline robin’s egg blue. It still amazed him to have seen so many shades of the colour that he’d seen in Demelza’s eyes replicated here in nature. Was he really going to begrudge the money that had gone into giving them the incredible memories they would ever have in their lives, especially as they began the start of their life together as husband and wife? Ross was so preoccupied with his worries, plans and schemes that he almost missed the sound of the Registrar-General’s cough and nod up the pathway that he almost missed the first glance of Demelza. And that would have been a shame to last him an eternity because it all but caused his heart to stop in his chest.

She could have stepped from a dream of the islands, gowned in a simple, floor-length tank dress the same shade as the sandy beach under his feet, delicately beaded and embroidered with every tint and tone of the magical place they were in: the teal of the ocean, the bright fuschia from the flowering ginger near their entryway, the sunny yellow of midday, the orange and purple of sunset. The titian splendour of her hair fell in effortless waves around a face bearing only a hint of cosmetics. The natural beauty of her sparkling, sea-green eyes and dusty pink lips reminding him of his favourite times of her: the first morning he woke by her side, walking and talking near the river by Ballynahinch Castle, and loving, all of the loving. The bouquet he’d left for her was beautiful in her graceful hands and he blinked when he caught sight of something shimmering along the tops of her feet: delicately beaded strings of crystal, mother of pearl and silver, like sandals that left her feet bare.

He became aware of the snapping of the photographer’s camera over his shoulder, suddenly thrilled they’d decided upon having someone come to capture the next few moments of their lives, but he was certain he’d remember every single second until the day he died.

Demelza’s smile broadened with each step she made towards him, making his heart thunder in his chest. She was, quite simply, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he was humbled that she’d chosen him to be her husband. Oh, he hoped he would do right by her, to be the sort of man she needed him to be. He offered his hand to her as she stepped from the pathway to the sandy beach. “Dee,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the inside of her palm. A rosy blush coloured her cheeks. “You look beautiful.”

“Ross,” she breathed in the way that never failed to make his pulse race, “I hardly recognized you.” She swept him with her gaze before turning shining eyes up into his own, brushing the backs of her fingers against his cheek and jaw. “So very handsome, my husband-to-be.”

“I’m quite ready to rid myself of the ‘to-be’ part of that title,” he observed, hoping he’d concealed the nervousness that had his stomach in knots. He desperately wanted to kiss her, but knew he had to wait, they needed to wait for the right moment. “How about you, my wife-to-be?” 

She laughed. “Very much.”

“Then, shall we?” He offered her his arm, gooseflesh racing up his arms when she slipped her hand through the crook at his elbow. The sugar-fine sand shifted under their feet as they walked the final ten feet to the shoreline where Jean-Paul Beaudoin, Registrar-General of the British Virgin Islands stood with his cousin, an ivory leather portfolio open in his hands.

“Good evening, Miss Carne and Mr Poldark,” the Registrar-General said happily. Demelza and Ross murmured their hellos. “And welcome Mrs Beaudoin and Mr Collins.” Kendra and the photographer, Daniel Collins nodded. Demelza handed the property manager her bouquet to hold. “Let us begin.”

“We are joyfully gathered today to witness and to celebrate the joining of two lives in marriage.” The officiant turned slightly to address the witnesses. “Kendra and Daniel, Demelza Carne and Ross Poldark have invited you to be with them and to rejoice with them as they make this most important commitment.” Mr Beaudoin returned his grey eyes to meet Ross’s. “The essence of this sacred covenant is the accepting and honouring of each other as one's life partner, everlasting lover, heart companion, and soul friend.” He paused for what felt like an eternity. “It is, therefore, a decision that is entered into with great consideration and respect. So let us all take a few moments and bring our full attention into this present moment.”

_ If you consider ‘great consideration’ to be defined as a day’s rumination, insane flights and arguments with family and friends, then yes, we’re covered,  _ Ross thought nervously to himself. A tickle of worry sizzles up his spine. Was this the right idea? Had they rushed into this?

As if she’d read his mind, Demelza gave his arm a loving squeeze of assurance. “I’m sure, Ross,” she whispered. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Ready to proceed?” Jean-Paul asked gently. They both nodded. “We gather, in reverence and joy, with the hope that the love which has brought you together will deepen and that it will go out beyond itself into the lives of others. Thus, we ask that the hopes and promises of this union be realized.” He touched their joined hands. “May you both be granted the patience to listen, the capacity to understand, the compassion to give comfort and the joy to laugh and just to be yourselves. Let your marriage make a home where neither of you is ever lonely,” the officiant continued. “Let your marriage offer illumination and the nourishment of shared experiences. May your union be strong enough to endure the difficult times. May life's challenges not separate you; may you always be able to turn to each other.”

Ross realised, quite suddenly, that he and Demelza had had the opportunity to experience all that Jean-Paul had mentioned, from the first instant Ross had seen her to this. More would test them as they moved forward, and he spared a glance at his bride, reading the same understanding of the profundity of this moment in her eyes. 

He covered the hand she’d tucked in his arm with his. Jean-Paul grinned at the gesture. “Now, Demelza, do you take Ross to be your husband?”

“I do,” Demelza declared, her eyes never leaving his. They shimmered with tears, and he brushed a thumb to catch one that had left a silvery trail along her cheek.

“Do you promise to love him, honour him, comfort and keep him in sickness and in health, and be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”

She beamed, nearly bouncing on her toes. “Oh, yes, I do.”

The officiant chuckled before turning to face Ross. His steel-grey eyes were warm yet intense. “Ross, do you take Demelza to be your wife?”

The corner of Ross’s mouth curved into a smile. He gazed down into Demelza’s eyes. “I do.”

“Do you promise to love her, honour her, comfort and keep her in sickness and in health, and be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”

His throat was tight with emotion and he found he had to clear it to make his response heard. “Absolutely, I do.”

“We will now have the exchange of vows,” Jean-Paul explained. “Please face one another and take each other’s hands.” Ross took a deep breath as they shifted positions. Demelza’s hands were warm, so soft in his own. Jean-Paul turned the portfolio around, the words they were to share. “Ross, if you please.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I, Ross Vennor Poldark, take you Demelza Carne to be my wife. I promise to be your loving and faithful husband. I will love, honour, and respect you on a daily basis. I will keep my heart open to you through all that life brings our way.” He brushed his thumbs across the tops of her hands, drawing them to his chest. “I am blessed by you being my life's partner and I promise to cherish you, from this moment to my very last.”

A soft sob escaped Demelza’s mouth. “Are you alright, love?” Ross asked, concern flooding him. 

She nodded and the officiate offered Demelza a crisp, white handkerchief to dab at her eyes. When she finished, he turned the folder in her direction. She gathered Ross’s hands in hers, pulling him close. “I, Demelza Carne, take you Ross Vennor Poldark to be my husband.” She smiled at him and he had to admit hearing her say that word in connection to him was tremendously moving. “I promise to be your loving and faithful wife. I will love, honour, and respect you on a daily basis. I will keep my heart open to you through all that life brings our way.” She lay her cheek against their joined hands, and Ross was unashamed at the tears that ran down his face. “I am blessed by you being my life's partner and I promise to cherish you, from this moment to my very last.”

Demelza smiled tremulously, laughing when Ross took the handkerchief from their officiant to tend to his own face. Ross lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “What can I say? It was bound to happen.” 

He nodded his thanks to Jean-Paul. “No, sir,” Jean-Paul said. “‘Tis yours, a thing blessed with both your tears and a token of your commitment to one another.” Ross tucked it in his pocket with gratitude.  “And now we will have the exchange of rings.” He reopened the portfolio. “The wedding ring is an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual union. The ring is a symbol of the commitment you are making to each other. May I have the wedding rings, please?” Ross dug into the pocket of his coat and extracted the rings they’d purchased in Ireland. “Beautiful,” the officiant stated when Ross dropped them into his broad palm. “Your rings are sacred circles. A circle is the symbol of wholeness, peace, and unity. As circles, your rings have no beginning and no end. They are the symbols of this growing relationship you have come here to celebrate and confirm. You wear them with the blessing that you have a partner in life and that you are each other's life partner.” He turned to Ross. “Ross, as a sign of your love for and faithfulness to each other, please place the ring on Demelza’s finger and repeat after me, “With this ring, I thee wed, and with all that I am, I honour you.”

Demelza’s hand rested lightly in his own. He plucked her ring from Jean-Paul’s palm and slid it on her finger. “Dee, with this ring, I thee wed, and with all that I am, I honour you.” He kissed her knuckles nearest the gold band and drew her hand to his heart.

“Oh, Ross,” she whispered. She slipped her hand free and picked up Ross’s ring. He’d never worn jewellery on his hands so the heavy circle of precious metal felt as new as the relationship they were forging. She pressed a kiss to his hand, gently rubbing the lip gloss she’d left on his knuckle. “Ross, with this ring, I thee wed, and with all that I am, I honour you.”

They clasped hands, their rings clinking lightly and making both of them smile. Jean-Paul continued. “Having heard the vows you have just made with each other, made by the sun, sand and sea of Virgin Gorda, witnessed by these here present, by the power invested in me the by the British Virgin Islands, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Ross could feel her hands trembling in his, her excitement in the moment feeding his own. “May your love be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. May the radiance of the promise you bring to each other never diminish even as the ocean around us. Go now in joy and live in the present moment with gratitude as you create your future together.” He leaned close, a huge smile on his face. “You may now kiss the bride, Ross.”

He needed no further encouragement. He wrapped his arms around her slim waist and kissed her with every ounce of love and devotion he had in his body. Demelza was his wife, the woman he would spend the rest of his life adoring. She sighed against his mouth, her hands sliding up his neck, her fingers slipping into the hair at his nape. He groaned when she pressed against him, his body already hard and aching for her, and his hand drifted from the small of her back to her bum to haul her even closer.

A discreet cough from their property manager reminded him they were not alone. “Shit,” he murmured against her mouth. He ended the kiss, nuzzling the tip of her nose with his own as she giggled and blushed. “Hello, Mrs P...” He stopped, embarrassed to realise he didn’t know if she planned to take his name or not.

“Mrs Poldark,” she finished for him. “I’ve never had a middle name, so Carne will suit me nicely.” She kissed his chin. “Hello, Mr Poldark.”

He couldn’t help it. He swept her into another kiss and spun them around in a circle. “What do you say we finish the formalities so we can be alone?” he suggested when he set her back on her feet.

“Yes, please,” she eagerly agreed. They signed their marriage certificate and warmly thank the Beaudoins for their assistance before spend the next thirty minutes posing for pictures as the sun began to dip down into the sea. He’d been enthralled by the intricacies of Demelza’s outfit and now had time to take them in at leisure. A carefree plait of hair that had run down her back, with little jasmine and ginger buds woven in the braid, held as if by magic and making her hair more fragrant and alluring than ever before. The barefoot sandals were so delicate, their lacings crisscrossing her legs to just above the knee. They made him growl low in his throat when a wild twirl at the edge of the surf lifted her skirt high enough to reveal the secrets below. All of the teasing glances and stolen kisses they’d shared during the photo shoot were making it more difficult to for Ross to remain gentlemanly and, if the dark, sapphire blue of her eyes were any indication, his new wife was feeling the same way.

They reached the patio where they took a few more shots including the spectacular view they’d had since their arrival before settling at the table near the pool to finalize the details for their picture package. One quick handshake and Collins was gone.

They were alone. In a little over an hour, their lives had changed. Ross watched Demelza through his lashes as she moved towards him. Her hand brushed his lapel. “Have I told you how handsome you are in this suit?” she murmured.

“You may have, once or twice,” he responded, his index finger tracing the neckline of her dress. “But you,” he sighed, “you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He kissed her softly, with more delicacy than he’d thought himself capable of at the moment.

She purred. “Are you hungry?” she asked, nodding her head towards the table in the dining room. Rose petals were scattered across the thick glass, and a small, white wedding cake – just enough for two – sat in the centre. A bottle of champagne sat temptingly in the stainless steel wine cooler, two delicate flutes awaiting a bit of the bubbly.

“Maybe later, but at this particular moment,” he responded, sweeping her up into his arms and crossing the threshold into their condo, “all I can think about is carrying my wife to our bed and making love to her for the rest of our lives.” He nibbled along her throat and up to her ear until they reached the master bedroom. Candles flickered throughout the room, the covers turned back invitingly on the king size bed. “What do you think about that, Mrs Poldark?”

“I thought you’d never ask, Mr Poldark.” She slid her hand along his neck, pulling him down for her kiss. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to do it...Thanks to all of you who have supported this fic and continue to have to put up with my cliffies. It won't be too long...I've a nine-hour flight on Monday.
> 
> This really is a tribute to the beautiful British Virgin Islands, which will have years, if not decades, before it resembles the images I've had in my research folder for this fic. Also, the wedding vows were taken from [St John's Favorite Wedding Minister's](http://www.usviwedding.com/wedding-minister-vows.php) website, with a tweak or two from yours truly.
> 
> Finally, rainpuddle13...i lurves you, girl...get well soon, honey!


	21. Nights and Days in Virgin Gorda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> A Modern Romelza AU.

Demelza sighed with delight as Ross carried her across the threshold of the master bedroom. Dozens of tea lights illuminated the airy bedroom, their flames dancing in the changeable eyes that had captivated her since the moment they’d met on a windy cliffside in Cornwall. Whiskey-gold and glittering with desire, he lowered his mouth to hers, lazily sampling her lips and mouth her until she was breathless, her longing for him making her tremble in his arms.

He’d been circumspect with her after their first night in the islands, keeping their kisses chaste, his touch light, leaving her wishing for more. As the hours leading to their wedding ticked by, the anticipation had grown to an almost unbearable pitch until she’d seen him waiting for her on the beach. The nerves that had caused her stomach to leap stilled, replaced by a yearning so profound it had made her eyes prickle with tears.

“Oh, Ross,” she whispered, unsurprised to feel one of them slip free from her lashes and trace down her cheek, just as his mouth left hers to catch it.

“Dee?” He stilled, lifting his head to gaze into her eyes, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head, threading her fingers through his hair. “No, it’s right, so very right.” He grinned, brushing her lips with his before trailing along her cheek and jaw to her throat. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” his voice rumbled close to her ear, gently rocking her in his arms. He nuzzled his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder. “You smell amazing, my wife.”

She hummed, toes curling with pleasure at the sound.  _ Husband _ . He was her husband and the realization sent a thrill along her spine. She tugged at his hair, and he raised smouldering eyes to meet hers. “Make me yours,” she murmured. “Now.”

He set her on her feet and cupped her face in his hands. “It would be my pleasure.” His mouth claimed hers with a hunger barely restrained. She clasped her arms around his waist, her hands brushing his shoulder blades, fingers dancing along the play of muscles in his back. He growled are his tongue warred with hers in an all-consuming kiss before his hands slid under the straps of her gown. “May I, please?”

“Only if you wish to tear it,” she giggled, stopping when she saw the gleam in his eye. She pressed her hands against his chest. “Oh, no you don’t. I want to wear this again someday. Let me.” She stepped out of his arms and, fingering the skirt of the dress, began to pull it up her body and gasped when he moved in to finish the job. He drew it over her head in one, graceful motion and stopped. She cocked her head and giggled once more. “You look as if you’ve been coshed over the head with a bat. It’s not as if you’ve never seen me naked before.” Save for her beaded beach sandals, she was completely nude, a secret that had stoked the fire of her need for him with each moment that had passed between them since meeting him on the beach. She’d wondered what he would think if she’d told him the only thing shielding her from everyone’s view was the white silk fabric he now crushed in one hand.

The dress fell to the floor. “Beautiful,” he whispered. He brushed the crest of her breast with the backs of his fingers, moving up her chest until his thumb stroked her cheek. “All of this temptation, hidden behind a scrap of fabric.” He gathered her against him, the slight rasp of his linen suit brushing against her nipples, sending shivers along her skin. “How will I ever be able to look at you,” he murmured as he pressed kisses along her hairline, the tip of her nose, her chin, “and not wonder if you’re as naked as the day you were born underneath your power suits, as you head out the door to the office?”

“Well,” she said breathlessly, “in truth, I am nude under my clothes all the time, Ross.”

“Minx.” He kissed her hungrily, growling low in his throat. His hands roamed over her torso, along the length of her spine until they squeezed the cheeks of her arse, a long, lingering assault on her senses that made her knees wobble. He turned them, shuffling her backwards until the backs of her knees hit the mattress. She sat down with a bounce that made their teeth click. “Sorry about that,” he murmured as he broke their kiss, standing long enough to shirk off his jacket and fling it across the room.

“Ross!” The tea lights flickered dangerously as the garment flew past the dresser into a corner. She gave him a scowl. “You’ll set the place on fire!”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he chuckled, his fingers attacking the buttons of his shirt. Demelza’s gaze followed its path as it joined the jacket, but only for an instant before he tilted her chin up and around to once again bring his lips to hers. She hummed her delight as she ran her hands along his muscular shoulders and down his chest, giving the raised pebbles of his nipples a light pinch. He nipped her bottom lip, kneeling to bring his head level with her breasts. He licked her nipple before taking it into his mouth to suckle.

“Oh God,” she groaned, the sensations spearing a jolt of need to the heat coiling between her legs. She raked his scalp with her nails, his answering moan vibrating the sensitive flesh he held between his teeth, his hands kneading her hips in time with the rhythmic pulls he made with his lips. She pressed her lips against the crown of his head, breathing in the clean scent of his hair, the cedar and sandalwood of his cologne, and of him, the man who was now her husband. “Ross,” she breathed.

“Have I ever told you how much I love hearing you say my name, just like that?” he whispered between licks and kisses along her breast. He tilted his head back to brush his mouth against hers. “It makes me rock hard in an instant. Has since the first time you kissed me.” She whimpered. She’d never had a clue that the raw, sexual words he shared with her would hold as much power over her as they did, and oh, how they did. It took everything within her not to grind against the bed, or to beg for him to touch her, to ease the tension threatening to shatter her. He kissed his way down her abdomen, his tongue tracing the edge of the thatch of russet curls shielding her secrets.

“No, Ross,” she said, reluctantly, stopping him before he could slip his tongue between the lips of her sex to the bundle of nerves all but screaming for his attention. “Please, I…I need to tell you something.”

“What?” He raised hungry, baffled eyes to meet hers. “Right this minute?” She stood, tugging him to his feet and circled her arms around his waist. “What is it, love?”

“Because of something I did to help with tonight,” she said, feeling oddly shy. “I didn’t want us to worry about condoms, not tonight, so went to the local clinic while I was in town and got a little help. Contraceptive sponges.” His brow furrowed. “It’s a barrier method that is activated with a spermicide.” He frowned, clearly confused. She rolled her eyes. “Have you ever tasted spermicide?”

“No. Oh.” He blinked. She shouldn’t blame him for being thrown at that moment, with emotions and hormones running so high, but she hadn’t sorted out a better way to tell him. “Er, no, I haven’t, but I can’t imagine anything with a name like that it’s very pleasant.”

“No,” she said, “apparently not. Can cause temporary numbing.” He winced, sucking in his lips and she burst out laughing. “I’m sorry,” she tittered, “oh dear, I should have said something to you earlier, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Not to worry, love,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. His hands resumed their exploration of her back. “Just hadn’t thought of the tiny detail that your husband simply loves the way you taste.”

His fingers circled the dimples above her bum and she shivered. “Well, I had,” she countered, remembering how embarrassed she’d been asking the local GP her question about the possibilities for the evening. “And it’s only until I can get back home to see my doctor. But it all…” His longest finger slid between the cleft of her arse and she bit her bottom lip. “It rather slipped my mind.”

Time to drive him as mad as he was doing to her. She dropped her hands to the waistband of his trousers, running her fingertips along the inside from back to front. His hips flexed, the heaviness of his cock pressing against her mound as he moaned his pleasure. “Well, it’s a sacrifice I’m very willing to make if it means I can watch your face when I sink into you, bare, and feel your tight, wet—” She cut him off with a whimpering kiss and fumbled with the button on his trousers. His hands brushed hers aside. “Let me,” he ground out against her mouth.

She nodded, scrambling back onto the bed, meeting his eyes, glittering like the darkest embers, his movements lacking their usual grace as he shucked his trousers and boxer briefs off his hips to the floor. “God, Ross.” His cock, freed from its confinement, pressed hard against his belly, mere inches from her touch.  It had only been two days since they’d last made love, only one since she’d last tasted him and it felt as if it had been years. “I'm not the only one who’s beautiful.” She brushed the back of her knuckles against the underside and his entire frame appeared to tremble at her touch.

“Demelza.” Her name rumbled, dark and needy, from deep in his chest, his eyes were black with desire. She shifted again, making room for him to join her. He wasted no time in doing so, and she breathed a sigh filled with relief and longing when he claimed her mouth, gathering her in for a head-to-foot embrace, their legs tangling, their hands exploring until one of his slipped between her legs, stroking her where she needed it the very most. She arched into his caress, splintering in mindless ecstasy. “Jesus, so hot, so wet,” he groaned against her throat, shifting to lie between her thighs.

“Yes, yes, please,” she begged, rubbing against his length as he settled, his cock sliding back and forth between the lips of her sex. She cupped his face in her hands. “Ross, please.”

“Now,” he whispered, taking his cock in his hand and guiding it to her centre. They groaned in unison as he sunk into her heat, the last, shimmering spasms of her orgasm drawing him deeper until he was fully seated within her. He swore, pressing his forehead to hers. “Demelza,” he all but wept, “it’s so good.”

“I love you so,” she rasped against his throat. She linked her ankles behind his back, drawing him tighter, grinding circles against him, feeling him touch every inch of her.

He drew back and thrust hard, up into her, the tip of him touching that spot that yearned for his attention. “Like that?” he hissed.

“Y-Yes,” she mewled, “there, right there.” She rolled her hips in time with his thrusts, the vice-like grip he had on her hip adding a ribbon of delicious pain to her overwhelming pleasure.

“Christ, the heat, Dee.” He arched into her, faster as her nails scored his back. She closed her eyes, pulling him flush against her. He braced his upper body on his forearms. “Come for me, baby, please.” Her eyes opened to meet his, incendiary with his lust. “Want to come with you.”

She was mindless as the first wave of her orgasm struck her, laughing and crying when he added his shuddering groan when he joined her, capturing her sobs with his mouth in a bruising kiss that felt as though it lasted for days.

After a time, Ross raised his head from the curve of her neck, but not before brushing the underside of her jaw with his lips. “I love you, Demelza,” he whispered gently.

“Love you too, Ross,” she smiled sleepily against his shoulder. Once again, he propped himself on his forearms, his fingers tangling in her hair. She opened heavy lids to find him gazing at her, a halo of curls around his beloved face, a smile curving the right side of his mouth. “What is it?” she asked, brushing a stubborn, spiralling strand of hair from his forehead and tucking it behind his ear.

“I’m never wearing a condom again,” he chuckled. “You won’t miss me going dow---”

She interrupted him with a kiss. And another. And another, until all the talking was done.

~*~*~*~*~*~

They spent the rest of their time in the islands doing what two lovers do: sleep until nuzzling kisses and caresses drew them to welcome the new day in one another’s arms; share a meal for two from a single plate, talking about the adventures from the day, be it snorkeling in Devil’s Bay exploring the sea caves at the Baths, swimming with sea turtles, suntanning on their private beach or making love under a star-filled sky. On Thursday, they rented a car and drove around the island, spending an incredible afternoon investigating the Copper Mine National Park on Virgin Gorda. Thirty-six Cornish miners emigrated to the islands in the nineteenth century to work the mine, alongside over one hundred Virgin Island natives, continuing the copper mining started by the Spanish one hundred fifty years before. The mine closed in 1862 due to escalating expenses and low market prices, a story familiar to anyone who’d grown up in Cornwall. They toured the ruins of the housing area and the operations centre, containing the powerhouse, mine shafts, cisterns, engine house and chimney, the relics so reminiscent that, save for the balmy temperatures and palm trees, they could have been mistaken for home.

Ross shaded his eyes, the Caribbean daylight intense despite his sunglasses, and squinted up the ruined stack when Demelza slipped her arm around his waist. “Do you wonder if you had any ancestors who came here?” He ducked his head under the wide brim of her sun hat and noticed her eyes glistened with tears. “What’s wrong, Dee?” he asked.

She gave a little shrug. “I dunno,” she murmured, blinking rapidly. “I guess seeing the ruins have made me a little homesick.” She huffed out a humourless laugh. “Although it seems like a sin against nature to say something like that when we’re here in paradise.”

He slipped the hat free from her sunny head and kissed her temple. “We have definitely been spoiled here,” he admitted, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “But there is a part of me that is ready to go home.” He leaned close, pressing his forehead against hers, sharing her breath. “With you.”

Demelza hugged him tightly. “That’s it, exactly. And part of me that never wants to leave, because doing so means having to face reality.”

He chuckled wryly. “We were always going to have to face that, sweetheart.”

“I know.” She crinkled her nose in distaste, which only made him want to kiss the tip of it. He indulged the impulse and she purred. “And as much as I don’t want to, we should discuss what happens when we go back.”

He took her hand, leading the way back to the car. “We need to keep the marriage under wraps until the 21st, right?” She nodded and he voiced the fear he’d kept shoving aside since their wedding. “I know that I want us to be together, either in town or at Nampara, but will that be practical?”

She stopped their progress. “Are you suggesting we live apart until then?”

“No!” His stomach plummeted to the ground. “Demelza, of course, I don’t  _ want _ us to do so, but don’t you think they’ll expect you to be in town at the flat?”

“Not  _ all _ of the time,” she said, frowning up at him. “Could we alternate between the farm and the flat?”

“I suppose so,” he mused. “How many people live on the residential floors of your building?”

“Right now, it’s only me and Drake, although my uncle has a flat there that he uses when he’s in town.” She pulled a face. “He’ll definitely be there on Sunday night since I’m to have my talking to on Monday,” she muttered.

He scratched the back of his neck. “Best if I stay clear of the place until afterwards, don’t you think?” She nodded, her eyes shadowed. “Listen,” he said, pulling her into his arms, “come to Nampara for the weekend, then head home Sunday night.” She opened her mouth to object but he hushed her with a kiss. “You need time to prepare for Monday, and I know I’ll have a shitload of business dealings to go over with Verity. I can do that while you’re in town.” He sighed, wishing he hadn’t felt the need to start the conversation in the first place. “Check your calendar after you finish up with the meeting and we can sort out some kind of schedule going forward. Do you think Andrew would help with this or is that asking too much of him?”

Demelza shook her head. “No, I think he’ll be happy to help.” She pouted, brushing her hands across his chest. Their warmth permeated his t-shirt, the caress heating him in other ways. “I already miss you.”

“You’ll not be rid of me so easily, Mrs P,” he laughed, lifting her left hand to press a kiss in her palm, turning it to enjoy the sunlight sparkling off her rings. “We've got a full twenty-four hours before we have to be back on that God-forsaken puddle jumper.” He captured her lips for a long, lingering kiss. “Let’s make the most of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will you look at that... no cliffie! 
> 
> Enjoy it....mwahahahaha!
> 
> Thanks to all of you who have supported this work. It is greatly appreciated!


	22. Boiler House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> A Modern Romelza AU.

_“Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared to land in Newquay. Please make sure one last time your seat belt is securely fastened. The flight attendants are currently passing around the cabin to make a final compliance check and pick up any remaining cups and glasses. Thank you.”_

Ross Poldark hated landings. That much had become clear to Demelza, as she watched him begin what she now recognised as his pre-landing ritual. First, patting the breast pocket of his jacket to confirm the location of his mobile, then the seat pocket in front of him to ensure his charger hadn’t disappeared. Second, peering apprehensively out the window and drumming his fingers on the armrest. Finally, one deep breath before flashing her a nervous smile, capturing her hand in his and giving it a squeeze. It would have been thoroughly endearing if she hadn’t known the distress that it covered. She offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile, hoping it would disguise the nerves that had tied her stomach into knots the closer they’d come to Cornwall.

They’d been travelling for the better part of twenty hours. The short hop from Tortola to Puerto Rico had been forty-five minutes of misery for both, thanks to the storm that had blown up over their last night in the islands. They’d been thankful for the business class upgrade Andrew had secured for the rest of their trip and had taken full advantage of the reclining seats between San Juan and New York to rest and recover. She’d waited until Ross had settled into sleep through the transatlantic leg of their journey to pop open her laptop and finish the work she’d needed to do before they arrived home.

Her uncle had been very, very busy since their conference call, returning the Murphy Mianraí business proposal awash in a sea of red-ink. It left no doubt of his opinion of her efforts and yet failed to provide any constructive criticism in its wake. She hadn’t been too concerned about this since this was her uncle’s modus operandi with everyone at Carnemore. That was until she’d received a distressing email from Andrew: Howard had promised to have the proposal sent to the father and son heading up Murphy Mianraí by Monday evening so they would have ample time to review it before they arrived in Truro late Wednesday afternoon for a dinner meet-and-greet, leading into final negotiations Thursday morning.

She’d managed to sneak time away from her new husband during the last day of their honeymoon – who knew he’d be so enthusiastic about swordfishing – to complete the second draft. Unfortunately, it would mean she’d need to head for her flat in Truro Sunday afternoon for the uninterrupted peace required for the final polish and remain in the city most of the week, instead of returning to Nampara Monday evening, as planned. What would it be like, to be out of Ross’s company after nearly a fortnight of knowing nothing else? To be away from the man who, after what amounted to being the most impulsive, romantic and life-changing week of her life, was now her husband?

She glowered at her laptop; all tucked away in her carry-on bag near her feet. Her uncle was a passive aggressive tosser and the resentment she felt towards him threatened to sour her mood thoroughly. Was the presidency of Carnemore worth all of the skulking about her and Ross would need to do for the next two weeks? She wished she could just say fuck it all and stroll into the office Monday, her pretty rings glittering on her finger and her husband by her side. But no, all of Howard Carne’s machinations were designed to make her trip up, to feel too far out of her depths and to get her to do just that: turn down the promotion and, by doing so, proving her uncle right in his assumptions about his niece’s career ambitions. More importantly, it would be doubly disappointing for her father. First, by rejecting the promotion, he’d offered her with such pride in his heart. Second, to learn about his only daughter’s marriage in such a flippant, defiant manner, belittling her choice and her love for the two most important men in her life.

In the end, when Demelza stood in their boardroom Thursday afternoon, shaking hands with Patrick and Liam Murphy to seal the deal, she would leave her uncle spluttering with frustration. The sacrifice would be worth it.

“What time do you have?” Ross’s voice made its way through her musings and made her jump. “Hey,” he murmured, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, “I didn’t mean to startle you, Dee.”

“No worries, Ross,” she offered, forcing a smile she didn’t quite feel and peered at her wristwatch. They’d agreed she would set it to Greenwich Mean Time for the trip back to help them stay grounded. “It’s twenty to ten.”

“God…” he mumbled, scrubbing his face with his hands. She loved the sandpapery sound of his whiskers and couldn’t help but feel better with this now-familiar gesture. “We’re only four hours behind but when you add in all of the travel time?” He yawned hugely. “I’ve no idea if I should be asleep or awake.” He grinned, blinking sleepily at her before his brows twitched into a frown. “You look worried.” His thumb brushed the skin above her knee. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, Ross,” she sighed, sending her thoughts and worries into the recesses of her mind. The soft, hazel warmth of his gaze had a way of doing that to her. “I think I’m just ready to be off of aeroplanes and into a hot bath.”

“I’ve no bath to offer you at Nampara, but I hope the shower will be a good enough substitute,” he said, and she detected a slight whisper of apprehension in his voice. While his bachelor’s loft at the farm offered few of the same creature comforts as the shiny, uptown flat at Carnemore Towers, she was happy to trade them all in if it meant he’d be by her side.

She caught his hand in hers, bringing it to her lips. “A shower will be an excellent substitute, as long as I’ve got company.”

His eyes sparkled. “Oh, that can be arranged,” he growled, catching her lips with his, only to separate as the plane touched down.

The best way to keep him calm during a landing. _“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Cornwall Airport Newquay. Local time is a quarter after five, and the temperature is fifteen degrees Centigrade. For your safety and comfort, please remain seated with your seatbelt fastened until the Captain turns off the Fasten Seat Belt sign. This will indicate that we have parked at the gate and that it is safe for you to move about. At this time, you may use your mobile phones if you wish.”_

They walked hand in hand down the jetway and into the airport, weaving their way towards baggage claim where they took their mobiles off aeroplane mode as they waited. A broad grin spread across his face. “A message from Verity.” He tilted the screen so she could read over his shoulder:

_Welcome home! Everything is set and looks great. We’re still on for brunch or would teatime be better? I would like to invite Andrew if that’s alright with you both. Let me know, and we’ll go from there. I can’t wait to see you both! Love, from Verity_

“Well, well, well,” Ross mused aloud, giving Demelza a wink. “Sounds like Verity’s got a little crush.”

Demelza poked him in the ribs. “Don’t tease, Ross,” she admonished. She thought the idea of Andrew and Verity together to be simply too adorable for words. She reread the message, this time narrowing her eyes. “What does she mean by saying ‘everything is set’?” The smug grin curling the corner of his mouth made her laugh. “What _are_ you up to?”

He tucked the phone into his back pocket and grabbed the first of their bags. “You’ll just have to wait and see, Mrs P.” She had to admit it did funny things to her stomach whenever he called her that. Funny…delightful things. Ten minutes later, they stared at the mountain of luggage assembled at their feet. “I had no idea you had this much with you when we were in Ireland,” he said dazedly, scratching his forehead before tracking down a trolley.

It _was_ a proper stack. “Never really thought about it until this very moment,” Demelza admitted. “The new case we got for our stuff from Virgin Gorda was an absolute necessity.” She looked at the pretty Vera Bradley rolling bag in bright, tropical colours. It was the easiest to pick out of the dozens of bland, black suitcases trundling along the belt and quite possibly her new favourite.

“How about these that we took out of storage in Dublin?” he gestured to the Rimwona stainless steel cases that had been around the world with her multiple times and still looked new. He secured the cases, tossed his duffle and her laptop case atop the pile and grinned. “You know, Demelza, if this is what you packed for a three-day conference, it makes me wonder just how much closet space I’m going to have to clear out for you.” The light punch she aimed at his arm struck his side when he gathered her close for a long, nibbling kiss. “Let’s go.”

She squinted when they stepped from the sliding glass doors. “Hmm,” Ross paused, rubbing his chin. “We may have to have these sent down to the farm.”

“Why is that?” she asked, as he wheeled the trolley towards the parking lot. Now she _was_ embarrassed. She’d usually used hired cars or Ubers when travelling with as much as she did had never been an issue.

“Remember how I said I had a surprise for you when we got back from Dublin?” he asked.

She nodded, thoroughly bewildered. She shaded her eyes and squealed with delight when she followed the direction of Ross's pointing finger. The slightly dusty British racing green MG made her bounce on her toes. “Simply the perfect sports car for you, Mr P!” She dashed around it, peering into the windows. “When did you get this?”

“The day after you had me round to dinner,” he said, beaming. “Less conspicuous than my Pontiac.” He told her the tale while she made arrangements for an Uber. The fact he’d purchased it from a surviving family member from Children's Hospice South West made her slip her arms around his neck and draw him into her loving embrace. Ross purred when she broke their kiss. “I take it you approve?”

“Oh, yes, I do, so much,” she said softly, squeezing his arm. “Top-down?” she asked hopefully, already reaching into one of her bags for a scarf.

“Is there any other way?” He kissed her cheek, his lips an inch from her jaw. “Bundle up, love.” Soon, they zipped down the A39, her concerns of the morning whisked away in the Cornish sea breeze.

~*~*~*~*~

“CornishNews, city desk,” Jon Morgan’s harried voice barked. The desk editor responsible for the local beat at CornishNews for the last eight years, he’d been weeding through a storm of calls that had come in with information about a missing senior citizen for the past hour and beginning to feel as hopeless his contacts with the police.

“Is this where I’m supposed to call with photos of local celebrities?” the young man’s voice chirped on the other side of the line.

For God’s sake, there were more important things in the world that this. “Yes,” he confirmed through gritted teeth. Budget cuts had forced him to add local gossip to his responsibilities, and he resented the distraction.

“I’m at the airport and just saw Demelza Carne—”

“—Listen, Miss Carne’s got business all over the world, mate,” Morgan interrupted, rolling his eyes. “She’s always coming and goi—”

“—How often does she come through Newquay with her hands all over some dark-haired bloke?” the young man countered. “And his all over her?”

Morgan paused. “Tell me more, better yet, send over the photo.”

“Oh no, not until we sort out the finder’s fee.”

Little shite. “Describe him, then!”

“Tall, dark, wearing board shorts and a t-shirt. He had a man bun and the start of one of those hipster beards, by the look of it,” the lad said.

“You’re sure it was her?” Morgan challenged.

“Didn’t think so at first,” the kid chuckled. “Mind, I’ve seen her before, but she didn’t look flash like she usually is. But my girlfriend here said she was sure it was Carne. She works at the tower, sees her all the time.”

Morgan liked the sound of that for a first confirmation. “Tell me what they looked like.”

“They were both suntanned.” The background noise pitched louder than before: the caller had placed his phone on speaker. Morgan wondered if the lad was looking at the photo he’d taken. “Well, she was tanned about as much as a redhead could be, anyw---”

“---And they had a pile of luggage with them,” a young woman’s voice interrupted, “like they were just coming back from one of those fancy cruises or something.”

“What else?” Morgan asked.

“They had wedding rings on their fingers,” the girl giggled. The sound of an airport announcement crackled through the earpiece. “Real glittery diamond on her hand and everything.”

Morgan sunk onto his stool. He might resent having to oversee Gossip, but he wasn’t one to ignore a potential financial windfall when it fell into his lap. They hadn’t had anything remotely scintillating since the wife of the Truro City football club was found in bed with the daughter of the mayor. And while this didn’t sound as scandalous as “RowEmma” had turned out to be, a little local chinwag about the possible marriage between Tom Carne’s heiress apparent and someone who sounded like one of the local surfer boys from Perranporth would do more than raising the ad buys for a few weeks. He glanced around the newsroom and spied Jude Faulkner, one of their freelancers who thrived on the gossip beat. “Alright, sending you to Faulkner, just a moment.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Go ahead and put it on, Dee,” Ross murmured. He’d produced the blindfold from nowhere the minute they’d eased into the gap of the hedgerows.

She arched a brow and fingered the soft material. “Sneaky man.”

“Yes, I am,” he agreed. “Now, if you please.” And, with a sigh, she’d done as he’d asked. Suddenly, all of her senses heightened once her vision was taken from her as they continued up the drive and having the convertible top down had made the experience more vivid. She could smell the hay and wildflowers, the sound of the horses and chickens, and the silence the moment he’d cut the engine. Moments later, she shivered despite the warmth of his hand on her shoulder. “Give me your hand.” He captured the tips of her outstretched fingers and helped her exit the car, guided her steps as they made their way around the vehicle. The crunch of the gravel underfoot was surprisingly loud before they stilled, the jingle of his keys signalling they were at the door.

And she was swept off her feet. “Ross,” she squeaked, scrabbling her arms around his neck.

He teased her lobe, giving it a small nip. “Must carry you over this threshold, too, Mrs P.”

Demelza’s toes curled in her boat shoes. “And the blindfold? Do you have another surprise for me?”

“I hope to have an infinite number for you,” he whispered, his voice smooth against the shell of her ear, and it made her breath hitch in anticipation. “But this is the last, for now.” She felt him ascend the stairs to the loft, once again marvelling at his strength and the grace of his movements. She nestled her head against his strong neck, breathing in his scent and flicked the tip of her tongue against his throat. He hissed in pleasure at the caress, taking a second or two to pause and nibble along her jaw. “You’re distracting me.”

“Do you mind it?” she grinned, pressing her lips against his scruffy jaw.

“That might be a trick question,” he suggested, “but I’ll ask you to hold that thought.” She nodded, and he continued on his path. Moments later, he kissed the tip of her nose. “Take off the blindfold and open your eyes.”

She blinked her eyes several times to adjust to the lighting. She’d never seen his bedroom before, had often imagined it to be austere and utilitarian. It was anything but, the walls the colour of parchment, the rich cherry wood of the furnishings warm and sensual. Light washed down the rock accent wall behind the headboard. Champagne sat chilling on his dresser next to two antique, coupe-style glasses, alongside a silver bowl filled with strawberries. It was softness of the duvet, the candles flickering along the hearth and the bouquets of Cornish wildflowers that brought the tears to her eyes.  

His room. _Their_ room. “Ross,” she exhaled, kissing him warmly as he set her on her feet. “It’s lovely.”

He nuzzled his nose against hers. “Welcome home, Mrs Poldark.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear. I do believe the poo is about to hit the fan...
> 
> Thanks to everyone supporting this fic, especially my dearest Rainpuddle.


	23. Dynamo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> A Modern Romelza AU.
> 
> Back home in Cornwall, and romance is in the air at Nampara.

Verity heaved a sigh of relief when she heard the chime on her mobile announcing a response to her message. It had taken every ounce of restraint she had not to burst out of the cottage the instant she’d heard the tires of Ross’s MG crunching across the gravel. The newlyweds deserved privacy while they settled into Ross’s loft above the garage. She could manage that, couldn’t she? Still, when the bell rang ten minutes later she’d all but flung open the door, her shriek of “Welcome Home!” almost sent the Uber driver tumbling over the collection of luggage at his feet. “I'm sorry!" she cried, grabbing the driver's hand at the very last second to keep him from falling. “Can I help you?”

“Was called to bring luggage home for Mr and Mrs Poldark,” the driver said, his accent thick with Cornwall.

“Oh!” Verity said, grinning broadly at their names. “Please, bring them in.” She leapt aside to give the man room because it was clear he’d need it. Ross preferred to travel light, so the lovely array of stainless steel cases must belong to his new bride. Verity grabbed her wallet but was waved off by the driver. “Mrs Poldark already gave me a lovely tip, Miss, but thank you all the same,” he said as he opened the kitchen door. “So long!”

 _Mrs Poldark!_ Verity mused as the car trundled down the drive. _No one has_ _gone by that name for some time._ She picked up her mobile and typed a message:

 

> _From: Verity Poldark_  
>  _To: Ross Poldark_  
>  _30/06/2017 17:02_  
>    
>  _Luggage has arrived -- WOW! Beef stroganoff for supper. Still wondering about your thoughts re: Andrew joining us. Let me know, K?_

She nibbled on her bottom lip. It had been somewhat presumptuous of her to ask Ross if he wanted a near-virtual stranger joining them for their welcome home dinner. Besides, she didn’t even know if Andrew was available, not to mention that he would -- in all likelihood -- need to bring his children. Which would be lovely, she thought, picturing them playing in the yard with Garrick or visiting the chickens.

“Verity, what in the hell are you doing?” she muttered aloud, setting the phone down with a smack. She’d found herself thinking of her visit to Andrew’s home earlier in the week and how easy and comfortable they’d been around one another and the children. He’d texted a photo of the thank you note James and Emily had drawn for her the day after she’d shared her chicken soup with them but hadn’t heard from Andrew since despite her best hopes. She’d concluded he’d probably only meant to be kind to her because of the situation between his boss and her cousin, nothing more. She frowned, swallowing the disappointment that had made her eyes sting. “Forget all about that and get supper put together.” She was in the act of sliding the casserole dish filled with beef stroganoff into the oven when her mobile rang.

It was Andrew. She let the door close with a bang, shook off one of her heatproof mitts and punched the “accept” button. “Hello?”

There was a pause. “V-Verity?” Andrew’s voice was coming through the tiny speakers. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes,” she said, willing her voice to calm. “Just putting supper in to bake.” She sat on a stool overlooking the courtyard where a soft rain had begun to fall and couldn’t help to laugh when she saw Ross -- dressed in a robe, his feet stuffed into trainers -- yank open his door to frantically raise the roof on his convertible.

“What’s so funny?” Andrew asked. She told him, and he joined her, his laugh warm and masculine. “Must have been too preoccupied to remember the top; it’s not every day a husband welcomes a bride to her new house.”

“That’s lovely,” Verity said, turning quickly so her cousin wouldn’t realise he’d been noticed. “They got home late this morning, but of course, you know that.” He murmured in agreement. “They are coming over for supper in an hour or so.” No time like the present. “Would you like to join us?” The rest of her words fell in a rush. “You could bring the children, and they could see the farm, as we discussed.”

He was silent for a moment. “Shouldn’t this be time for your family? Or close friends, perhaps?”

She wilted on the stool. “I suppose so,” she begrudgingly agreed.

“Demelza will see me soon enough on Monday morning,” he demurred. “But thank you for thinking of me.” Her cheeks warmed at the soft tenor of his voice. “I-I wanted to call you a few days ago, to ask how you were or if you’d heard from them---”

“---Me?” she breathed, sitting up straight once again. “I mean, well…”

Again, another thoughtful silence passed. _Oh, God._ “Yes, Verity,” he said softly. “I suppose I could continue to find ways to elude the obvious, but I’ve had to learn the hard way that life is often too short to dawdle.” Her heart was pounding in her ears. “I enjoyed having you in my home the other day, and I think you did as well.”

She smiled. “Yes, very much.”

“Well, I would like to see you again.” Her breath caught in her throat. “We could go out for a bite to eat, a movie or, perhaps, a concert?”

She could hardly believe it. Andrew Blamey was asking her out! “I would like that very much, Andrew,” she murmured happily.

He exhaled, ending with a chuckle. “Marvelous!” She knew she must be grinning like an idiot, but she didn’t care. She was about to say something else when the text message chime rang lightly. “Do you need to get that?”

“It’s Ross; I’ve been expecting this. Just one second,” she said, peering at the screen. Her cousin’s text was short and sweet:

 

>   _From: Ross Poldark  
>  __To: Verity Poldark  
>  __30/06/2017 17:23_
> 
> _Yes to Andrew and another for Dee’s friend Caroline._

“Yes!” Verity squeaked. “Andrew, they would love to have you join us tonight if you can.”

“It can be difficult finding a sitter with such late notice,” he admitted.

“As I said, you’re all welcome,” she pressed. “Ross said someone named Caroline would be joining us, too.”

“Caroline Penvenen?” Andrew blurted.

Verity blinked at his tone. “I suppose,” she said apprehensively. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?

“I’ll find someone to care for the children,” he said. “You’re going to need back up support with undivided attention for this one.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross finished tying his shoe and leaned back in the armchair near the fireplace. “Are you certain this is the right idea?”

“Inviting Caroline over for supper?” Demelza called out from the en-suite.

“Yes, _that_ idea," he confirmed. “You invite her over, to a place she’s never been, to meet people she’s never met?”

Demelza turned the light off and stepped into the bedroom, looking adorable in one of his jumpers and her skinny jeans, her red-golden hair pulled back into a high ponytail. She did a spin. “How do I look?”

“Adorable.” He got up and tugged her into his arms. “As if you’re far too young for me.” His green cable knit sweater hit her at mid-thigh and he could tell she’d dispensed with her bra, just to make him crazy. She’d be the death of him yet. “Now, don’t try to distract me from the subject at hand, woman.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Have you told her about us?”

“Yes, of course I have,” she said airily. “She’s the one who suggested I visit Agent Provocateur for the lingerie.”

 _MMmm._ “Again with the distractions,” he grinned, giving her a kiss. She deepened it, employing her teeth and tongue while her fingers slid into his hair at his nape. He moaned. “Dee. You know what I meant. She knows that we’re married?” he pressed.

Colour flooded her cheeks. “Well,” she muttered. “Not until a half an hour ago.”

“What?” Ross spluttered, taking a step back. _Holy fuck._ “Why the hell not?”

Demelza had the grace to look abashed. “I was hoping that by inviting her here she would find her patrician upbringing and not make a scene!”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Ross groaned, giving his head a hard scratch. “I need a beer.” He stalked out to the landing and down the stairs to the new kitchen Paul completed in the waiting area. Demelza had squealed with delight when he brought her downstairs a few hours ago in search for some nibbles, which had lead to bites of a different kind on the sofa. As he cracked open his lager, he leaned against the counter, overlooking the space. It was the spot where they’d had their first, explosive argument that had nearly spelt out their doom. It was also the place where they’d found the understanding and forgiveness they’d needed to become husband and wife. If they could find their way through that, they could face anything.

He returned to the bedroom where he found her sitting on the footstool of his armchair. He eased down behind her, setting the beer on the floor, and stroked her ponytail, warming when she leaned back to look up at him. Her eyes were a deep jade-green and filled with sadness. “Darling, I’m not angry. I just need to understand.” She turned, and he gathered her onto his lap. “We agreed we would both tell our two closest friends as soon as we landed in New York, right?”

“Yes, Ross,” she said, sounding contrite.

“And you heard me tell Dwight while we were in JFK?” She nodded, her gaze focused somewhere near his left shoulder. He’d had his mobile on speaker so she could hear the ‘conversation’, such as it was. “It took a while for me to get him to calm down, but eventually he came round, yes?” Another nod. “So why didn’t you do the same with Caroline?”

“Because I knew she’d be upset; more than upset, Ross,” Demelza whispered brokenly, burrowing into him, her arms slipping around his neck. “I knew if I told her I’d run off and married a man she’d never set eyes upon she’d never forgive me!” She began to cry in earnest, her tears dampening the side of his neck. He ran his hand along her spine, his mind spinning. Why hadn’t she told him this when they’d talked about the elopement? She’d mentioned the disappointment her father would have, but never this. Had he taken advantage of the romance of the moment to convince Demelza his way was the right way?

“Sweetheart.” He stroked her back, her sobs receding into the occasional sniffle. “Did I put too much pressure on you, first when I proposed and then when I suggested we elope?”  

“W-What?” she hiccuped, her voice muffled by her lips against his neck. She sat up to stare at him. His poor darling was a mess, her mascara in streaks down her cheeks, the tip of her nose red. But her eyes were clear and direct. “You didn’t pressure me. It was a surprise in both cases, but we talked about it at each step along the way.”

Ross nuzzled kisses along her hairline and jaw until he reached her mouth and was rewarded with a sigh of contentment. He eased back so he could look at her. “How long have you known one another?” he asked gently, offering her the bandana he’d put in his back pocket.

“Since undergrad,” Demelza said with a sigh, dabbing at her face.

“Tell me about her.”

She blew her nose. “We met the first day of class, in Chemistry,” his wife said, the warmth of reminiscence lightening the sadness in her eyes. “She was absolute crap at it, so we became lab partners.”

She chuckled ruefully at the mascara she’d blotted from her face. “What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Caroline’s the one responsible for all of the fussing up I do to myself. She’d be thoroughly affronted if she could see me now.” He was baffled enough for it to show, so she rolled her eyes. “You know, make-up, hair, clothes, bikini waxing--”

“--Oh, that,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Must thank her for that.” She poked him in the ribs, and he grunted: Demelza was quite skilled at finding the one spot that was ticklish. He let out a chuckle and saw the beginnings of a smile on her face. “There, I made you smile, my love.”

She sighed, handing him back the bandana. “Yes, you did, but it doesn’t solve the problem I’ve got, now does it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” he said somberly. Ross felt a stab of guilt pierce his conscious. One reason he’d suggested an elopement was to avoid the publicity, all of the questions he knew they would have to face because of her position. All he’d done was delay the inevitable, and at what cost? The cost of this friendship? “Do you want to postpone supper with Verity so we can go to see Caroline?” he offered. “Have it all out with her? She could throw shoes or whatever she wanted at me in retaliation.”

Demelza laughed and kissed him. “As much as that image amuses me to no end, no, Ross. Verity has expected us all afternoon--”

“--Except someone kept getting me sidetracked,” Ross mused, earning another poke. He captured one of his wife’s hands, kissing her palm. “Verity will understand, Dee. Especially when it comes to best friends clearing the air.”

Demelza rose to her feet and offered her hands to help him up from the chair. She captured his lips with hers for a sweet, gentle kiss with the promise of more. “Will you help me?”

Ross blinked. “Of course I will, love!” he sighed, tugging her close for a hug, her head tucked under his chin. “Like I said, it _was_ my idea to elope.”

“That _is_ true,” Demelza murmured, pressing the palms of her hands on his chest. Ross pinched her bum and delighted in her squeak. “Give me a minute to freshen up?”

He nodded. “I need to change into another t-shirt, as it is,” he jibed, tracing the mascara she’d left behind. Five minutes later, she was back, looking as fresh as a daisy. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Ready?” At her nod, he took her hand and led her towards the stairs.

 

He lifted her into his arms as they neared the cottage door. “Again?” Demelza laughed.

“Yes, again. Nampara Cottage is my home, too, Dee,” he murmured against the soft skin under her ear. “Now, knock on the door unless you want to stand out here in the drizzle for the rest of the night.” She rolled her eyes and tapped her knuckles against the oak, only to squeak aloud the instant Verity flung open the door. The smell of beef stroganoff wafted through the doorway and made his mouth water. “May we come in, cousin?” Ross grinned at the petite brunette whose rosy cheeks shone with happy tears.

“Of course! Of course!” Verity said, clapping her hands and dancing backwards on her toes. He carried his literally blushing bride over the second threshold in so many hours. His cousin had barely waited until Demelza’s feet touched the kitchen floor before she launched herself into his wife’s arms. “Welcome home, both of you!” He’d informed Demelza that Verity would be overjoyed to welcome her to Nampara. She hadn’t been convinced, despite his best efforts. Now, he met Demelza’s happy, startled eyes over the top of Verity’s head.

“I told you so,” he mouthed smugly, only having a second to gloat before his cousin slung her arms around his waist, sapping the breath from his lungs.

“Your turn, my love!” Demelza giggled as she bent to scratch a dancing, wriggling Garrick behind the ears.

Ross arched a brow. “Jesus, Verity, when did you get so strong?” he yelped.

“I’m just so happy for you,” Verity said, leaning back before grabbing him by the ears, hauling him down and giving him a big kiss on the mouth. “Come! Come, I’ve champagne on the table.”

They spent the next half hour scrolling through some of the photos they took in Ireland and Virgin Gorda, Demelza having spent part of her time on the plane organizing a slide show for her iPad. Ross grinned over Verity’s exclamations, all the while observing how she and his new wife got along. It was as if they’d been friends for ages, and it helped to quell some of the residual concerns he’d carried since the conversation they’d all had before the wedding.

They were midway through the ceremony photos when someone knocked on the door. “Could that be Mr Blamey?” Ross asked, brushing his thumb against Verity’s rose-pink cheek.

“Ross, stop it,” she giggled, flapping a hand. “You may not tease me tonight as Andrew said he thought the two of you would need some back-up support tonight.”

The knocking turned into pounding. “ _Not_ Mr Blamey,” Ross frowned, glancing at Demelza who’d paled. “Let me answer it.” He strode through the kitchen, temper crackling along his spine and had barely turned the knob when the door flew open. The woman standing before him was one of the most beautiful he’d ever seen, with golden blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes the color of sapphires. Her lips, however, were drawn into a straight line of fury. An avenging Valkyrie come for battle. Great. “Caroline Penvenen, I presume.”

“You’re damn right,” she spat, strong arming her way past him. “Demelza!” The woman in question came into the kitchen at the sound of her name, with Verity holding her hand. “Oh, Demelza...how _could_ you?”

Demelza stepped closer. “Caroline, please let me explain.”

“I send you off for a weekend of shagging your sexy mechanic,” Caroline spat, waving a hand in Ross’s direction, her eyes raking him with distaste, “not to get _married_?”

Ross stepped back as if he’d been slapped. Tears may have sparkled in the blonde’s pretty eyes, but it was nothing compared to the outrage that blazed in his wife’s countenance. He hadn’t missed the derisive tone Caroline employed and neither had Demelza. She was furious.

“Caroline.” Her voice was icy, riveting in its control. “I will not allow you to speak of Ross in such a manner. He is my husband, whether you like it or not.” She turned to Verity. “Is there a room where Caroline and I can talk, and have some privacy?”

Verity nodded. “The library is just past the dining room. It’s a bit of a mess because we’re renovating---”

“---That will be fine,” Demelza interrupted.

“Do you want me to come along, love?” Ross asked. He’d promised to help her if she needed him.

Demelza tore her eyes from Caroline to meet his, the anger diminishing in a thrice. She kissed his cheek. “Not yet, but maybe later?”

“Of course,” he stated. “I’ll be right out here.”

Demelza gave him a grim smile before turning to face her friend. “Let’s go.” The two women silently walked through the kitchen, their backs stiff and movements jerky. Ross was glad he was not the one at whom her ire was directed.

“What in the hell was that?” Verity said, flummoxed as muffled shouts drifted into the kitchen.

“I’ll tell you later,” Ross responded warily. “There’s nothing breakable in there, right?”

“Other than the two of them?” Verity asked, giving him a side-eyed glance. “Nothing.”

“Hello?” A deep, Australian accented voice called from the open kitchen door.

Verity jumped as if she’d been scalded. “Oh, goodness, Andrew!” Ross turned to see a handsome man around forty step into the room. “Welcome! I’m sorry, it...well…”

More shouts from the library. “I was afraid I wouldn’t get here before Caroline,” Andrew sighed. “There’s nothing breakable in there?”

Ross snorted back laughter and shook Andrew’s hand. “Join me for a whiskey, Andrew? Dinner could be a while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that's the perfect place to end a chapter, don't you? Thanks for everything, folks!


	24. Accumulator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> A Modern Romelza AU.

No sooner had the door closed did Caroline pounce. “For God’s sake, Demelza, what in the fuck were you thinking?”

“That I love him and want to spend the rest of my life with him!” Demelza snapped. “And another thing: if you think I’ll let anyone speak about someone I care for the way you just did about Ross you don’t know me at all.”

That made her friend’s chin jut out. “You barely know the man and you’ve tied yourself to him for all eterni---”

“---He is my _husband_ , whether you like it or not,” Demelza barked, “and I demand he be given the common courtesy you -- of all people -- would extend to anyone, at the very least!” She began to pace in the small area of the room not covered with lumber and construction equipment. “I can’t believe you, Caroline! You barge in here, into the home of people you’ve never met, hurling insults at the top of your lungs---”

“---I’m sorry, Demelza, bu---”

“---No!” Demelza interrupted. Caroline’s mouth snapped shut, a look of such exasperation resting on her countenance that would have been hilarious under other circumstances. Not when Demelza’s temper was nearing the breaking point. She took a deep breath, mentally counting to ten. “No. Apologies followed by qualifiers are not allowed here.” She raised her hand when Caroline made a move to object and met her friend’s icy-blue stare with one of her own. “That goes both ways.”  
That caught her friend off guard. She blinked. “What?”

Demelza gestured to the wide bench of the window seat and made herself comfortable. It was rough hewn, part of the renovations underway in the dark, intriguing space. “While I find myself struggling from crowning you at the moment, we have talked, for years, about standing up for one another when the time came,” Demelza acknowledged. “Almost from the first few weeks of our friendship.”

Following what appeared to be an intense internal struggle, Caroline huffed and plunked down on the opposite side of the bench. “You’re right,” she said, her eyes narrowed, “we did. Almost came to getting down to business when you and George turned so serious.”

“God, I’d forgotten about that,” Demelza said with a shudder. The memory of a long-ago discussion, complete with bridal magazines and lists of venues, rose unbidden in her mind. How different her relationship was with Ross, and that brought warmth to ease the chill that had enveloped her. “Caroline, I thought long and hard about that promise after Ross asked me to elope with him because I knew if I did I would be breaking that promise, and you would be terribly hurt by it,” Demelza murmured. “It wasn’t something I took lightly at all. But I _did_ break it.” Caroline’s fingers nervously twisted a rose gold Infinity ring Demelza had given to her. She sighed and covered her friend’s hands with her own. “I’m sorry for not including you in all of this.” Several seconds passed as Caroline stared, dumbstruck by Demelza’s apology. She squirmed. “Aren’t you going to say something?

“Well, what can I say now?” Caroline grumbled, extracting her hands from Demelza’s grip, opening her purse and pulling out a cigarette. “Anything I say will be small and petty after all of that, you cow.”

“There’s my Caroline,” Demelza smiled ruefully and nodded at the fag. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’m not sure how they feel about smoking in the house.”

Her friend rolled her eyes. “You run off and marry a man and don’t even know if he allows smoking in his own house?”

_Good point, not that I’ll ever admit it._ “Come on, woman, it’s best to check first, regardless of where you are.”

Caroline frowned and nudged Demelza’s shoulder with her own. “It did hurt, you know. Terribly, Demelza.”

“I know it did,” Demelza answered soberly, willing herself not to cry despite the lump that had formed in her throat.

They were silent for several moments, not meeting one another’s eyes until Demelza felt the soft touch of her friend’s hand on her shoulder. “So. Tell me, and help me understand.” Demelza smiled and shared the events as they’d transpired: their stay in Ireland, the feelings and emotions shared so soon, without restraint; both of his proposals, to marry and elope, and the time she and Ross took apart to consider the prospect. The whirlwind of the trip to the islands, a world away and the most special time of her life. By the time she’d finished, she wasn’t surprised to see a few tears trembling on Caroline’s long lashes. “It sounds positively magical, Demelza,” she said, dabbing under her eyes with a tissue from her purse. “But are you sure? You barely know one another.”

Demelza arched her brow. “That’s not necessarily so. We learned a great deal about one another in the beginning, after we’d fought. You know that, you were there when it happened.”  Caroline nodded. “We had to in order for us to ever hope to have a chance at an honest relationship. That kind of blow up either results in devastation---”

“---Or a whirlwind, I get it.” Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Just tell me that you’re not pregnant.”

“Of course not!” _Well, not certain about that yet._ Demelza felt her cheeks flame and hoped Caroline would assume her friend was merely abashed. _Please._

“Does your family know?” Caroline asked. “Didn’t think so,” continuing before Demelza could open her mouth to respond.

She gave her friend a punch in the arm. “Not yet, but I plan to tell them as soon as possible.”

“Vague much?” Caroline asked sardonically.

“Bint.” Demelza teased, happy they seemed to be back on stable sand, for now. “Could be tomorrow, or in two weeks. I’d prefer to keep things quiet until the board meeting.” She linked her fingers with Caroline’s. “I want you to know we will have a public event to celebrate the marriage. We haven’t discussed the details, but I hope you will be open to helping me with that.”

“You know me -- I love a party!” Caroline kissed her cheek and gave her a squeeze, her eyes turning serious. “I will want to spend some time with the two of you so I can get to know him. You may trust him. He’ll need to prove himself to me.”

“I understand,” Demelza said. “I would love for you to get to know Ross.” She rose to her feet and dusted off her rump. “Can I trust you to be reasonable?

“Of course I will,” Caroline said, crossing her heart with her fingertip. “Although I do reserve the right to come back to this discussion later.” She groaned when she saw the sawdust clinging to the back of her black skinny jeans. “After I’ve had a chance to grill him.”

Demelza shook her head. “Why does that unsettle my nerves?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

_From: Ross Poldark_  
_To: Dwight Enys_  
_30/06/2017 18:27_  
  
_999, mate. Need you at Nampara now._

_From: Dwight Enys_  
_To: Ross Poldark_  
_30/60/2017  18:31_  
  
_You two fighting already? Told you so._

_From: Ross Poldark_  
_To: Dwight Enys_  
_30/06/2017 18:33_

_No. We’re great. It’s her friend Caroline that’s pissed. I need backup. NOW._

_From: Dwight Enys_  
_To: Ross Poldark_  
_30/60/2017  18:34_

  
_Keep your pants on and don’t do anything stupid. Be there in twenty._

_From: Ross Poldark_  
_To: Dwight Enys_  
_30/06/2017 18:35_

_Verity made beef stroganoff, you wanker._

_From: Dwight Enys_  
_To: Ross Poldark_  
_30/60/2017  18:35_

_Make that 10_.

 

True to his word, Dwight walked into the parlour of Nampara House ten minutes after his last text. He’d had to break several traffic laws to do so, but it’d had to be done. Ross was never one to send panicky messages so Dwight had been able to feel his friend’s agitation crackling through the bits and bytes.

“Thank God you’re here,” Ross said, bringing Dwight in for a back-pounding man hug.

“Well, you go about sending nine-nine-nine messages and promises of Verity’s cooking and I come a-running,” Dwight quipped, easing back to look his friend in the eyes. He’d scraped off the revolting he-man beard he’d all but clung onto since his breakup with Elizabeth. Dwight thought Ross looked hale, suntanned and healthy, despite his current anxiety over whatever was happening in the library. Dwight nodded his head towards the room in question. “It doesn’t sound like World War Three in there. What’s going on?”

“It’s been quiet in there for a while now,” Ross observed, pouring Dwight a glass of whiskey.

Dwight clinked glasses with his friend and took a swallow, enjoying the burn as it slid down his throat. “Could be the calm before the storm?”

Ross knocked back what was left in his own glass and poured another two fingers for himself. “Who knows,” he sighed heavily.

“Well, you _might_ have known if you’d, oh, done things the traditional way,” Dwight drawled. “Date, meet one another’s friends and family, given them a chance to get to know you---”

“---Oh, shut up,” Ross muttered. Dwight cackled. “What’s done is done, and I’m happy it’s done.” A smile creased the side of his friend’s cheek as his eyes shifted from the library door to Dwight’s. “Demelza’s marvelous. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

The sound of footsteps from the kitchen drew Dwight’s attention. Ross’s cousin Verity looked especially rosy cheeked as she entered the room next to a tall gentleman with salt and pepper hair and kind eyes. “Dwight, this is Andrew Blamey, Demelza’s friend and personal assistant,” Ross said. “Andrew, my oldest friend, Dwight Enys.”

The two men shook hands. “Has there been any sign of them?” Verity asked, peering around Ross’s shoulder to glance at the door to the library. “Should we proceed with dinner?”

“I vote yes,” Dwight said confidently. _Someone_ had to be positive around here tonight. “Besides if I know you, you’ve made plenty and will have some mystical way of keeping it warm and delicio---” He stopped when the door opened and he saw her. Not Demelza, who he knew was a red-head, but the stunning creature walking next to her, holding her hand. Tall, willowy, with the face of an impish angel. Long, luxuriant blonde hair he just knew would be silken to the touch and curves in all of the right places. Her cool, blue eyes paused to meet his, and he could see they still simmered with annoyance. _Oh yes, Ross,_ _you_ definitely _needed backup,_ Dwight thought to himself. _Very happy to be of service._

“Ross,” Demelza said softly, “this is my best friend, Caroline Penvenen.” _Caroline Penvenen. Heard that before but where?_ Dwight pondered. He did his best to keep from laughing at his friend as he carefully shook the woman’s fine-boned hand. She stared Ross in the eye, thanks to the impossibly high heels she wore, and Dwight was glad he wasn’t the one being pinned by her steely gaze.

One that went from chilling to penitent in a thrice. “Please let me know apologize for the way I behaved upon my arrival,” Caroline offered. “There’s no excuse for charging into a stranger’s home the way I did. And I am sorry for insulting you, Ross.”

Ross nodded once, clearly a little baffled by the change. “Completely understandable. It’s been a shock for many.” He drew Verity next to him. “My cousin Verity.”

His attention shifted from the apologies and introductions when Ross’s new wife turned to face him. “And who is this?” Demelza asked. He’d seen pictures of her before, of course. One couldn’t be the heir apparent of the largest industry in Cornwall and not have a public persona. But the image he’d had of Demelza Carne from Carnemore -- smart, lovely and capable -- was not the one standing before him. Girlish with her hair in its ponytail and enveloped in one of his mate’s favourite jumpers, she had a youthful exuberance Dwight found intoxicating, and was struck by the friendly warmth that seemed to emanate from her. Not to mention the machinations of a military commander dancing behind her eyes.

Dwight offered his hand. “Dwight Enys,” he said gallantly. “It’s nice to meet you, Demelza.”

“Likewise! Ross has told me much about you,” she chirped. “Caroline?” She motioned to her friend to join her. “Dwight, my best friend Caroline.”

He locked gazes with the living embodiment of Aphrodite from the Birth of Venus. “My great pleasure meeting you, Caroline.”

“Likewise,” she smiled, a decidedly feline grin that made the hairs on his arms stand up. Her perfume wove its way around him and he was hard in an instant. _Shit._

“Dinner’s ready, everyone,” Verity announced.

“Thanks, cousin.” Ross walked over to join Demelza, his arm sliding around her waist. “Ready to go in, Dee?”

“In a moment,” Demelza said. “Dwight, would you escort Caroline into the dining room?”

“Absolutely,” he agreed, offering Caroline his arm. Demelza’s smile lit up her face and he found himself doubly dazzled. “We’ll see you in there.”  


Ross peered down at Demelza. “What on earth are you playing at?”

“Distraction, darling Ross,” she whispered, taking his arm. “Just the kind of distraction we need for a night like this.”

 

In Demelza’s opinion, the dinner ended quite well, despite its inauspicious beginning. Verity’s delicious meal was something everyone could agree upon, and the rest went along from there. The distraction that had come in the form of the charming, handsome Dwight Enys had proven itself to be invaluable. He wasn’t Caroline’s usual type, which leant more towards the dark, European types she’d favored in recent years. They were the ones who fawned over her cool, blonde looks and royal bearing. The type she could -- and did, as a rule -- walk all over. Instead, Dwight was smart, not only in his chosen profession, but in many of the subjects that had come up during their meal: politics, the arts, and travel. Demelza had noticed her friend’s speculative looks in his direction, followed by their shared laughter which had taken much of the sting out of Caroline’s temper.

Demelza would definitely have to think of something special to thank her new husband for his foresight, even if it had been unintentional. She smiled at the prospect.

That wasn’t to say that Caroline hadn’t been somewhat chilly towards Ross at first. She’d restricted herself to mostly monosyllabic responses to his efforts at engaging in conversation with him. _Nothing a swift kick to the shin couldn’t have cured,_ Demelza thought archly to herself. The thawing had begun over something she should have seen coming: his proposal. She remembered Caroline talking about Ballynahich Castle when she’d offered the Penvenen cottage for the getaway weekend that had turned into so much more. The cool gleam in her friend’s eye had turned to one of serious assessment when Demelza described them kissing in the rain after Ross placed the ring on her finger.

_“Well, I must admit that was a very nice touch,” Caroline drawled over her teacup._

_“We could have caught our death, Caroline!” Demelza laughed._

_Her friend reached out to snare Demelza’s left hand in hers. “You know what I mean, Dee. It was a grand, romantic gesture.” She pretended to have a jeweler’s loupe and peered down at the rings Ross had placed there. “A particularly brilliant one,” she stated approvingly._

_“I have been known to have my moments,” Ross murmured, his cheeks reddening. “I’m pleased my selection was satisfactory, Miss Penvenen.”_

_“Oh, Ross,” Demelza said with a pout. “It’s perfect.”_

She’d slipped her hand onto his knee and had given it a squeeze. The corner of his lips had tipped into a grin that heated his gaze and had made her wish they were back in his loft, where she could show him how much she’d treasured every moment they’d shared, including this one. _Time enough for that tonight._

Andrew picked up his tea cup and drained the last of its contents. “As much as I would love to stay, I need to get home and relieve Mrs Gimlett.”

Some of the light seemed to fade from Verity’s sweet face and Demelza hoped the newly-formed attachment she’d discerned between her new cousin-in-law and her assistant was more than just wishful thinking. One quick glance at him confirmed it, and it took all Demelza had within her not to clap with joy. “I plan to spend equal time between the condo and here for the foreseeable future, Andrew, so I hope you’ll come back and visit us here,” she offered innocently enough.

He smiled shyly at their hostess, who’d started to gather the dessert dishes. “I look forward to that, very much,” he said, a shy smile curving his cheek. “Verity, can I help you with these?” She ducked her head to hide a smile and nodded wordlessly.

“I should probably go as well,” Dwight said, glancing at his watch. “I’ve early rounds at the hospital in the morning.” He dropped a hand to Verity’s shoulder. “Incredible as always, Verity.”

“Thank you, Dwight,” she said happily, presenting a cheek for him to buss. “You’re always welcome.”

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” Ross chuckled, “else he’ll eat you out of house and home.” Verity rolled her eyes and lead Andrew back to the kitchen. “Stay for a nightcap, Enys.”

Dwight laughed and arched a brow towards Demelza. “I think you have better things to do than to sit around drinking with me tonight.”

“I do like your friend, Ross,” Demelza cooed, thoroughly enjoying the exchange and the way it made Ross’s cheeks turn ruddy brown beneath his tan. “Thanks for the assist!”

“My pleasure.” He turned to face Caroline, taking her hand in his. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Penvenen. I hope our paths cross again soon.”

“As long as these two remain together, I’m almost certain they will, Dwight,” Caroline said with a purr.

_Quite, quite well, indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as explosive as it could have been? Don't worry... more fun is to come soon. 
> 
> Thanks for all of your support!


	25. Fan Belt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> A Modern Romelza AU.

“What do you mean the corset and garter from the Alisa line are missing?” Caroline barked into the speakerphone. “It’s one of the new lines featured in this ad shoot!”

“I don’t know, Caroline.” Bethany, Caroline’s assistant’s voice sounded strained, as if she were barely refraining from frustrated tears. “I’ve already torn Erique a new arsehole for failing to double check the cases before they were picked up yesterday.”

“Fucking twat,” Caroline spat.

“Tell you what,” Bethany offered. "How about if we give the idiot a set, in the black, size two, and put him in a car to Bath? It will take him a few hours to get there from here, but he’ll make it in time.”

“Perfect!” Caroline crowed. Traffic between St Ives and Bath was challenging even on a good day. _Please let it be a miserable one._ “If he refuses, he’s done.” A wolfish smile curved the left side of her mouth. “When he’s finished, have the car bring him to the Truro shop at Carnemore Towers. I’ll have a little coming-to-Jesus conversation with him.”

“Oh, to be a fly on the wall,” Bethany cackled.

“Great suggestion, Bethany, thank you,” Caroline said sincerely. “Keep me posted. Cheers!”

She pressed the disconnect button on the mobile and walked over to her picture window of home office in Treloyan. It was another rainy day, but she’d loved the peace and tranquility of the space from the moment she’d toured the modern residence a year ago. Her Uncle Ray had insisted she find a place of her own after he was gone, rather than to stay in the old Georgian manor house that had been in the Penvenen family for more than a century.  She’d taken him up on it.

The weather was blustery and unseasonably cold, and she picked up the Irish wool wrap that lay across the arm of the sofa, snuggling into its warmth. Demelza had pressed it into Caroline’s hands before she’d left Nampara the night before. A gift from Ireland, its vibrant cerulean blue reminding her of the summer sky in Connemara. It was a sky that had started her friend down this wild, impetuous journey she’d embarked upon, with barely a blink of an eye.

She glanced at the photo of Demelza, one of several decorating the baby grand piano she’d brought from Killwarren and forced herself to mull over the events from the previous evening. Caroline had to admit Ross was very attentive to her best friend, the simmering sparkle that would light his eyes whenever he’d caught his new wife's glance, the gentle touches he’d made to her cheek or the back of her neck. He was also quite gentle and playful, if his attentions towards his cousin Verity was any indication. Ross had lovingly teased her about the budding romance occurring between she and Demelza’s assistant, Andrew, but made it clear at the end of the evening he was fully supportive. In the end, it was clear Demelza was thoroughly besotted with the man, but she looked happier than she’d seen in a long time.

As she meandered towards the kitchen, Caroline spared an instant to send another curse for George Warleggan up towards the heavens. The bastard had truly done a number on her friend’s trust in men. Wasn’t Demelza due for a spot of happiness? Ross was intelligent with a dry, self-deprecating sense of humor Caroline could appreciate.  A complete stranger would never guess the new Mr and Mrs Poldark had known one another for less than two months. The research Caroline had done on the man -- after Demelza had shared their inauspicious beginnings -- plus what had been gleaned from the pleasant evening in the farmhouse made it clear there was far more to Ross Poldark than she’d realised.

The issue that really bothered her was that Demelza’s family were still in the dark. Her friend was very close with her father and brothers. One would have to be in order to be in a multi-billion dollar business with them. And, in return, her brothers had always been fairly protective of her, despite the fact they didn’t have to be. Would Ross be able to withstand the storm of fury and concern Caroline knew would come his way once the cat was out of the bag?

Caroline huff out a sigh. “Not much I can do about that at the present,” she murmured, turning on the kettle for tea. One thing she _could_ ponder was the tall, sandy-blond man who’d been seated across from her for dinner. Dwight Enys was not the type of man she usually found herself drawn to, at first glance. The curling, floppy mop of hair and bright blue eyes were miles from the dark-eyed French and Italian men she dabbled with on her buying trips to Paris and Milan. Of course Caroline had googled Dwight the instant she’d got home, just to fill in some of the blanks. A native of Cornwall, he received his degree from Cambridge, worked as a general practitioner in Truro and sat on the board of the Royal Cornwall Hospital. But it had been the shy, tentative glances he’d cast her way that had truly intrigued her.

How had he and Ross become friends?  The two men had an easy, close friendship -- that much had been obvious by their banter. She’d have to pump Demelza for some answers after they’d been settled for a week or so.

The kettle boiled and nudged her from her thoughts. Caroline rolled her eyes at the ceiling. She didn’t have time to dabble in dating right now! This photo shoot was to be the start of her spring/summer campaign for the following year and it had to be complete in time to do the collateral marketing for Milan.

She heard her mail flap on the front door as she poured tea into her favourite  mug and padded over to pick up the post. Several fashion magazines -- she’d never abandon print, by God -- letters and bills lay scattered on the entryway rug. Caroline gasped as her gaze snapped to the _The CornishNews_ , its glossy cover showing the familiar figure of her best friend in the world locked in the passionate embrace of her new husband.

The mug shattered on the floor.

~*~*~*~*~

“I’ll keep the two suits from the Dublin trip, and the casual items from Connemara here,” Demelza murmured to herself as she pulled garments from her suitcases.

“ _All_ of that?”

“Judas!” She jumped at the sound of Ross’s voice from the doorway. He’d been down in the garage since six o’clock that morning getting caught up on the business. “It’s not a whole lot, I’ll have you know,” she huffed. He came in and kissed the pout from  her lips. She slipped her arms around his neck, sighing into his eager mouth.  He was warm and a little musky from his work and it made her head spin with delight.

She giggled, causing Ross to ease back. “My kisses make you laugh, Dee?”

His voice was low and rumbling, his lips nibbling along her jaw and it made her toes curl into the rug under her feet. “Oh, I’m laughing at myself, really,” she replied breathily. She played with the strands of hair curling at his nape. “You smell good.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “What? Oil, sweat, grime turns you on, does it?”

“And that should be a good thing for you, given your line of work, but it’s more than that and you know it,” Demelza teased happily before nuzzling her nose against his neck. Yes, there was motor oil, but also the sandalwood and coconut of the soap and shampoo he favoured, all mixed with the man she’d come to need as much as the water she drank. _No time for this right now,_ she mused as she kissed his throat, although the throaty purr he made at her gesture nearly made her change her mind. “Now, stop distracting me and let me get back to work, you imp!” He chuckled, releasing his arms from her waist at her push. “The space you’ve given me will be fine. For now.”

Ross arched a brow. “Do you plan to bring more here?” he asked. “We haven’t made a decision on where we are to live yet.”

“I know,” she sighed, tucking some of her intimates in one of the two drawers he’d cleared out. “We agreed to wait until after the board meeting.”

“Well, wait to _move_ , but not wait to _decide_ ,” he clarified, stroking her arm. “Besides, if we had a decision prepared in advance of the meeting it will give us one more thing to ensure them we’re serious.”

He had her there. “That’s a very good point,” she conceded and settled on the corner of the bed.

Ross joined her, twining his fingers with hers. “You know, if we decide to live here we’ll need more space.”

“But, I love the coziness here!” she exclaimed. Her eyes roamed the space, with its small sitting area just outside the door. “What more do we need?”

“A full kitchen, for starters,” he observed. “The space we have downstairs is adequate for a weekend getaway, love. Not for full time living, amirite?” She snort-laughed at his use of the slang term. “Besides, I’ve a bit of skill when it comes to the kitchen.”

She blinked with surprise. “You do?”

He nodded. “I’ve been relying far too much on Verity to keep me fed and watered since I...I started the shop here.” His cheeks turned ruddy at the pause and Demelza squeezed his knee. “Now that I’ve hung up my bachelor togs, I confess it would be nice to get back behind a skillet.”

“Well, I’m not much of a cook at present, so I would be more than happy to see you in action. At least until I can rectify the situation.” He cocked his head. “You remember I asked Verity to give me a few lessons, right?”

“You mean before we went away for the weekend?” he asked, a smirk curving his cheek. “I seem to have been distracted by one thing or another.”

She gave him a playful bump with her shoulder. “After seeing how accomplished Verity is over in the farmhouse makes my fingers itch to learn more than your favourite lamb stew,” she sighed.

“God, that sounds good,” Ross groaned.

Almost on cue, his stomach gave an enormous rumble. “What time is it?” Demelza laughed, craning her head around to see the alarm clock on the bedside table. “It’s a quarter to twelve. About time for lunch?”

“Come.” He stood and held out a hand. “Let’s go see what Verity is putting together.” He pulled her up from the bed and they made their way downstairs.

“So, is Dwight single?” Demelza asked as they reached the first floor.

“Where did _that_ come from?” Ross’s hand stilled on the door knob. “Looking to replace me already?”

“Very funny.” She tickled her husband’s ribs, delighting in his yelp. “I was thinking about how Caroline and Dwight seemed to get along last night.”

“She’s way out of his league.” Demelza glowered. She had observed the way their friends had talked over Verity’s scrumptious meal. Granted, Ross’s cousin and Andrew had shyly begun to explore their interest in one another at one corner of the rough hewn table, while at the other, she and Ross basked in the warmth that sharing the momentous change in their lives with friends and family for the first time...was it too much to ask that her dearest friend in life find the same kind of happiness?

“A person would have to have been blind not to notice the way she was looking at him!” she countered.

“You mean like the way a cat plays with its food before the kill?” Ross drawled. Demelza spluttered in outrage. “By the way, I’ll ignore the implication I must be blind.”

“Oh, be quiet, you,” she humphed, shrugging into her jacket. “Dwight was perfectly capable of holding his own -- and thriving, I might add -- despite your lack of faith in his own abilities.” There had been a spark between their two best friends from the moment they’d been introduced to one another, Demelza was certain of it. “I realise your introduction to Caroline was less-than ideal---”

He snorted. “She practically singed the hair off my head, all with the withering glance she gave me the instant she entered the house.”

“Now that’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” she teased until she noticed the look of concerned defensiveness in his eyes. “Wait a second.” She faced him and placed her hands on his chest. “What’s going on, love?”

He was silent for several moments, his beautiful eyes growing dark. “Do you realise how many times I heard one or both of you used the term ‘sister’ when referring to one another?”

Demelza opened her mouth before snapping it shut with a click. How often had she done so? It only required a moment’s reflection on the evening’s conversation to have an answer. “A lot,” she admitted.

“And while I’ve met Andrew, who is a very nice bloke, he’s not someone you equate with family,” Ross reasoned before frowning. “Although he is clearly interested in Verity, who _is_ family, so…” He stopped, shaking his head. “I’ve overcomplicated my entire point.” He cupped her upper arms in his hands and gave them a squeeze. “Caroline is the closest to family I’ve met on your side of our lives, and if that was her reaction, I’d just as soon avoid encountering your blood family for the next several years.”

Demelza wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his chest. “You were the one who convinced me to elope, remember?”

“True enough, but it takes two to tango, Mrs P.” He pinched her bum before capturing her squeak of outrage with his mouth. By the time he ended their kiss he’d all but turned her knees to pudding, but met her muddled gaze with a direct one of his own. “I know I need to be prepared for the worst, but I suppose it was more reality than I’d wished for at that particular moment.”

“Me too,” she acknowledged with a sigh. “And it wouldn’t have happened that way if I’d had the courage to tell Caroline at the same time you did Dwight, and not the hour before you were due to meet.” She bit her bottom lip, tracing a circle around a button on his work shirt. “I’m sorry.”

He nuzzled her nose with his. “Apology accepted,” he murmured against her lips, only to be interrupted by his stomach’s growling protest at the delay for lunch. “Come on, Dee,” he grinned, sliding an arm around her shoulders and opened the door.

The rain had softened to a drizzle fine enough to turn her hair into a frizzled mess if she were to stay out in it for long, but would survive the jog across the yard between the garage and the farmhouse. They made it halfway across before Garrick bounded up, a filthy hank of knotted rope in his mouth. “Oh no you don’t, fiend,” Ross warned, shifting Demelza him. “We’re not playing tug-of-war with you with that!” The dog’s muddy paws spattered his coveralls with muck.

Demelza giggled while her husband muttered and did his best to wipe off the worst of it with his kerchief. “Garrick can’t help it,” she began to protest when the sound of car tyres racing on gravel caused man, woman and mutt to jump.

Caroline’s little red Jaguar careened up the drive at breakneck speed. “Get back!” Ross roared, stepping in front of both Demelza and the dog, pushing them behind him. The car came to a sliding stop mere feet away from where they stood. Wet gravel and mud sprayed the legs of their trousers and they stumbled back several feet. Demelza tripped over Garrick and was only saved from landing on her bum by Ross’s firm grip on her upper arms. “A-Are you alright?”

His voice sounded as if he were miles away. She nodded shakily. “I-I’m fine,” she rasped, surprised she could utter a sound.

He rounded on her friend. “Jesus fucking Christ, Caroline, you could have killed us!”

Demelza had been in Ross’s presence when he’d been angry, but she’d never heard him sound the way he did. She looked up at her husband and found his face to be blotchy with rage. She pressed as shaking hand against his chest. “Just a minute, Ross.” She came around to the driver’s side of the car just as Caroline inelegantly clambered her way from the low-slung seat. “Holy shit,” Demelza hissed, adrenaline making her voice shake in her throat. “What are you doing he---”

The farmhouse door flew open, and a white-faced Verity stumbled down the stairs. Ross caught her before she fell. “Verity,” he said, shifting his gaze between her and the two other women standing feet away. “What the hell is going on?”

Caroline thrust the rumpled newsprint into Demelza’s hands. “This.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fan? Meet shit.


	26. Scuttle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s a mechanic with a penchant for muscle cars and classic rock and roll. She’s the heiress to a global minerals corporation who enjoys designer clothes and jazz. They say opposites attract. Mix in a little mistaken identity and who knows where this could lead. There’s only one problem: he’s the only one not in on the joke.
> 
> A Modern Romelza AU.

Ross barely had time to scan the headline before he noticed his wife’s eyelids fluttering closed. The magazine slipped from her fingers, and the tautness of her body suddenly went limp against him. “Demelza!” He caught her in his arms before she hit the ground and gasped; a wrenching pain made its way across his shoulder from their odd position and took his breath for an instant.

“Ross!”

Verity’s voice was harsh in his ears. “I’m alright,” he hissed through gritted teeth, rising to his feet. He shifted Demelza into his arms. She was in a dead faint. “Verity put the kettle on---”

“---What can I do?” He turned to find Caroline, white-faced and tearful, behind him. He’d all but forgotten about her when Demelza fainted. “Or have I already done enough?”

“Can you manage a fire?” he asked, beginning his walk towards the farmhouse, following Verity’s sprinting feet. “We’ll need one in the parlour.” Caroline nodded and raced ahead, leaving him cradling his wife. It was all because of their impulsive decision to elope that they’d had their photo splashed across the glossy cover of Cornwall Today. _You mean_ your _impulsive decision_ , he corrected himself, taking the steps two at a time. He swung Demelza carefully through the door, across the kitchen to the squashy couch near the fireplace. Caroline was applying herself admirably to the old blackened hearth and managed to get the kindling alight with impressive speed. “Thank you.”

The leggy blonde glanced over her shoulder in their direction. “Is she okay?”

Verity bustled in with a cool flannel, handing it silently to Ross. “Tea will be ready in a jiffy.”

“Bring the brandy, too,” Ross called after her before looking at Caroline. “She will be.” He pressed the cloth against Demelza’s forehead, murmuring nonsense words into her ear. “‘Tis alright, darling, wake up, now.”

A few seconds passed before the russet lashes blinked open, revealing troubled, wary eyes the colour of sapphires. “What happened?” Demelza asked reedily, only to answer her question in a thrice. “I fainted?”

He nodded, exhaling the breath he’d been holding. “You certainly did, darling,” he said more lightly than he felt.

She rubbed her fingers across her brow. “I’ve only ever fainted once before in my life, and I didn’t like it much then.”  He grinned then, a bit of her fire returning. “Where is that magazine?”

“I’ve got it,” Caroline said softly, walking over from the fire to sit Indian-style next to the couch, the magazine in her lap. “I’m so sorry I sprang this on you so suddenly, sweetheart.”

Demelza shook her head, scooching up into a half-sitting, half-reclining position and touched her friend’s shoulder. “I’d rather hear it coming from you than anyone else, Caro. Hand it over.” Warily, Caroline obliged, but before his wife could open it, she frowned up at him. “What happened to you?”

Ross hadn’t realised he was rubbing the back of his neck with his hand while gingerly moving his shoulder, “Oh, this?” He stopped moving, swallowing a yelp. “Just a little wrench, nothing more.” He lifted Demelza’s legs and sat on the couch, allowing them to rest across his lap. “Shall we read it together?” At her nod, he slid closer and tilted his head near hers to read.

_Demelza Carne, heir apparent of the Carnemore Minerals Corporation and one of the district’s most eligible bachelorettes, was recently seen in a passionate embrace with a handsome mystery man at Cornwall’s Newquay Airport Friday morning. Witnesses to the public snogging reported Carne and her tall, hunky companion had disembarked the morning plane from damp, chilly Dublin; however, their clothing and complexions seemed to suggest they’d been in warmer, sunnier climes. Both Carne and her honey were noted to be wearing what appeared to be wedding rings, as can be seen in our exclusive snaps. The loved-up couple was seen leaving the airport with several large pieces of luggage in tow._

_Carne and her family are slated to host their second quarter board meeting in ten days, where it is anticipated Thomas Carne, sixty-three and current chief executive and chairman of the board, will hand over the reins of the multi-billion pound corporation to his stunning, twenty-eight-year-old daughter. The elder Carne suffered a heart attack in early spring, hastening the transition of power. A source choosing to remain anonymous assert a final decision regarding the CEO position is still up in the air, with some of the board members preferring the leadership transfer to Howard Carne, sixty, and current chief operating officer. Both he and his brother Thomas, worked side by side to grow the company to its current valuation._

_Will the sudden appearance of a new man in Demelza’s life draw her attention away from the organisation at such a critical time? Stay tuned!_

“Goddammit.” Ross eased back against the old, worn cushions, pressing his fingers against his eyes. The article wasn’t salacious, no, but had been filled with enough innuendo to all but shout “yes, we’ve been shagging our brains out and because it was so good we eloped”. He raised his eyes at the sound of a sniffle, distressed to find Demelza’s cheek wet with silent tears. “Hey,” he murmured, brushing the backs of his fingers against her face. “Talk to me.”

“This is all we need,” she mouthed. Her eyes were dark, her lashes glittering with tears. “So much for getting acclimated to the notion of being in the public eye once again.”

He shook his head. “Never mind that, it’s not important,” he stated, tucking a strand of her coppery hair behind her ear. “What are you thinking?”

“That I want to slap the hell out of whoever this...this…” She tugged the magazine back into her hands. “Yes, this ‘source choosing to remain anonymous’ is.”

_There’s my fighter,_ he mused to himself. “Well, now, I believe they call that Assault Causing Grievous Bodily Harm (GBH),” he cautioned. “Don’t ask me how I know this.” He was pleased to have coaxed the hint of a grin from her.

Demelza settled back against him and brushed a kiss along his jaw. “Well, I wonder how long it will be before our mobiles exp---” The phone in her back pocket chirped into life as if on cue. “Shit.”

“Who is it?” Ross asked, trepidatiously. She’d told him she liked to personalise her ringtones. It just so happened to be the Imperial March from _The Empire Strikes Back.  
_

She looked at the mobile as if it were an incendiary device. “My uncle.”

“Oh, no.” Ross grabbed the offending device, hit the decline button and set it face down on the couch cushion. “How on earth did he hear about this so quickly? I’ve never met the bloke, but _Cornwall Today_ doesn’t strike me as his type of reading material.”

“His daughter -- my cousin, I suppose --  reads them quite voraciously,” Demelza sighed, rubbing her eyes.

When she finished, he tipped up her chin with a finger. “We need time to figure out what to do, so I suggest we both silence our phones for the next hour to do just that.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Andrew, that is out of the question.” Demelza’s hands tightened on the steering wheel of Verity’s Range Rover, borrowed for the trip into town. “Your weekends are for your family, not for coming into the office to bail your boss out of a mess of her own making.”

“The children are in Falmouth for the next few days,” her assistant calmly responded, “being thoroughly spoilt by their grandparents.”

She smirked despite the nerves threatening to chew a hole in her stomach. Andrew had the unflappable air of someone who relished charging into corporate battlefields on a regular basis. She popped an antacid and chewed. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He snorted. “Thwarting your uncle’s efforts to control the situation? Absolutely. But not,” Andrew clarified, “the circumstances or the pain it’s caused you.” He was quiet for a moment. “How are you holding up, Demelza?”

“Oh,” she sighed, “I’m doing all right. Whenever I find myself getting wobbly, I simply remember Howard’s near-apoplectic blathering and get all riled up again.” She and Ross had spent the better part of the afternoon spitballing ideas with Verity and Caroline, all while hunkered down around the dining table and eating some of her new cousin’s outstanding chilli con carne and cornbread. The plan was thus: Demelza would return to her townhouse that evening to prepare for her breakfast meeting with her father, brother, and uncle. That had not been well received by her new husband. “You know I want to come with you, Demelza,” he’d reiterated. “You shouldn’t have to face them alone when I’ve just as much to do with the current situation as you. Hell, you wouldn’t _be_ in this situation if you hadn’t gone along with my proposal.”

“That is not the way my family will first meet the man I’ve promised to love and cherish all the days of my life,” she’d glowered. Demelza had appreciated the knowing look Caroline had given Ross to back her up. _Besties forever, dammit_. In the end, it was agreed that Ross would come to the condo tomorrow evening for a quiet dinner with her father and brothers, Sam and Drake. Decision was made, Ross and Demelza bid the ladies goodbye and retreated to their loft where they tumbled onto the bed. Their lovemaking was frenzied, passionate and over far too soon.

“And Ross?” Andrew asked. “Having spent time with him, I can’t imagine he’d been thrilled to wait it out at the garage.” Demelza grinned at the sound of her husband’s name and pictured him as he’d been when she’d left: scruffy-chinned, tousled amidst the sheets of their bed and still attempting to weasel his way into joining her. She’d poked his side with her toe. “You have to trust me in this,” she’d said softly, leaning close to brush a kiss across the brow so recently furrowed in ecstasy that had returned to its standard brood.

“Oh, he wasn’t happy, but eventually acknowledged the wisdom of my thinking,” she said with deep satisfaction. “Anyhow, I’ll be at the office shortly. Thanks again, Andrew.”

Twenty minutes later over local Chinese takeaway, she and Andrew met at the office to go over the agenda for the morning’s meeting, which included a deep dive into the final draft of the Murphy Mianraí proposal before sending it to the print shop for production. They sifted through the mountain of mail that had awaited her return -- after all, she had been away from headquarters for nearly two weeks -- before shooing her assistant on his way to collect his children.

It was only then that she checked her texts.

_From: Howard Carne_  
 _To: Demelza Carne_  
 _04/06/2017 1312_  
  
_WHO THE HELL IS THAT MAN YOU’RE ALL BUT FUCKING ON THE COVER OF CORNWALL TODAY?_

_From: Samuel Carne_  
 _To: Demelza Carne_  
 _04/06/2017 1316_  
  
_Dee, Howard is looking for blood. What the hell is going on?_

_From: Howard Carne_  
 _To: Demelza Carne_  
 _04/06/2017 1317_  
  
_GODDAMMIT GIRL YOU CONTACT ME IMMEDIATELY!_  
  
_From: Drake Carne_  
 _To: Demelza Carne_  
 _04/06/2017 1318_  
  
_Mate? WTF?_

_From: Thomas Carne_  
 _To: Demelza Carne_  
 _04/06/2017 1319_  
  
_Sweetheart, Howard sent all of us copies of the image from the today’s paper. I only want to know what’s happened._

Howard had continued to text her -- nearly twenty before he threw in the towel, but it was the one from her father that brought her up short and made her throat tighten with regret. God, she’d acknowledged she would hurt him with her decision, but accepting it was far easier when one had a thousand miles between him than it was now, with him just a floor below hers. She paused, her thumb hovering over his number for what felt to be ten years before dialling.

It rang twice before he answered. “Demelza,” Thomas Carne said softly.

She could hear the weariness in every syllable of her name. Her guilt trebled. “Hello, Da,” she rasped. The tightness in her throat threatened to give way to a sob. She swallowed hard. “Da, are you alone?”

“I imagine you’d be able to hear your uncle all the way through concrete and steel, my girl.” She could hear the wry smile in his voice, and it eased her more than she could have hoped at that moment. “Want to come down and join me?” _Ugh,_ she thought to herself. Well, it was better to clear the air with the man who cared the most about her in all the world -- besides her new husband, of course -- before facing the one who didn’t. “Sam and Drake will be here for supper soon, too, with a little of the Irish to whet our whistles.”

She shook her head, a chuckle escaping her lips. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

 

“Hello, my girl.”

Demelza stood frozen in the doorway, taking in the once-hale and hearty man whose booming laughter had filled her childhood with joy. Thomas Carne had lost weight since the heart attack that had brought her home. He’d liked to blame it on the drastic change in his diet, but there was a noticeable frailty to his bearing that had nothing to do with it.

_And here I was causing him worry._ “I’m so sorry,” she croaked. The tears she’d held at bay since first hearing the news came in a flood. “What you must think of me.”

He gathered her close, pressing her head against his shoulder. “I think of you as I always have done,” he said, rocking her gently where they stood. “My sweetness.”

Demelza melted into her father’s embrace, the familiar scent of his aftershave -- the same one he’d used since she was a girl -- a balm to her jittery nerves. “Daddy,” she murmured against his neck. They stayed like this for several moments until she’d gathered her composure enough to ease back to peer up into his eyes. “Where should I start?”

“I suggest we get out of the doorway and get comfortable in the lounge,” he teased.

She was able to postpone the full disclosure about Ross for another few moments until her brothers strode through the door. Sam’s kind, brown eyes found hers a second before he hauled her close for a hug. More tears, how was it possible, but there they were, streaming down her cheeks onto his broad chest. “C’mon, Demelza,” he said gruffly, “you’ll get my shirt all trashed with the gunk you put on your face.” He’d earned a poke in the ribs for that.

She gathered her baby brother, Drake, in a bear hug which he returned without hesitation. “I’m usually the one who gets browbeaten for being impulsive, Dee, but this takes the cake.”

“Thanks, Duck,” she offered, smiling at the nickname he’d been given since his infancy. He towered over all of them, his body still gangly with youth. She, taking his offered hand and joined Sam and their father on the couch. When they were all nursing their whiskeys, she began. She told them how she’d met Ross, how she’d been drawn to him almost from the first moments she’d seen him as his truck trundled down the drive to the mine. She admitted the misunderstanding that had nearly torpedoed things from the start, and the soul-searching they’d both done to start again.

It was when she reached the part of their time in Ireland that she felt the blush creep along her chest and neck. “I think you can spare us the details, sister. Besides, the scorching red blush on your cheeks pretty much gave it away,” Drake, ever the jokester, quipped.

“Suffice it to say,” her father stated diplomatically, “the two of you connected.”

“In more ways than one,” Drake snorted.

“Oh, for God’s sake, you twat,” she moaned, flicking his ear with her nail. He gave a satisfying yelp in response. She took a steadying sip of the amber deliciousness in her cut crystal glass. “Yes, Da, we did.”

Thomas set his glass down and captured Demelza’s hand, lifting it so he could look at the shining platinum rings she’d been so recently given. “So why the rush, darling?”

She felt Ross’s presence with her, his love and support and the answer came to her with unexpected quickness. “Because I love him, Da,” she said simply. “True, it was easy to be swept away by the newness of our relationship, the romance of the setting. But at that moment, all of the questions I may have had evaporated became insignificant to the enormity of what was happening between us.” She looked into his steel-grey eyes. “You once told me you’d only known Mum for a few weeks before you knew she was meant for you, isn’t that so?”

A dimple creased her father’s cheek. “Very true, my girl,” he admitted. “I believe it’s a common family trait amongst us Carnes.”

“Guilty as charged.” Demelza cast a glance at Sam, who fingered the wedding band on his hand, a faraway look in his eye. He and his wife, Emma, had only known one another for a month before they announced their intention to marry. He was eager to return to Australia to be by her side in time for the birth of their second child. “Still, Dee, we did have the family with us at the wedding.”

“I know---”

“Is there something you’re not telling us about him?” he pressed. “I mean that’s what Howard’s implied.”

“Sam.”

Her father’s voice was sharp, pointed. She swallowed the plea for understanding she’d come close to uttering at the mere mention of her uncle’s name. “Just what has he implied?” she ground out from between gritted teeth. Sam shot a glance at their father, and she clutched his hand. “What?”

Drake blew out a sigh. “You’re going to need another drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience... writer's block sucks mightily.

**Author's Note:**

> Time to try my hand at a modern AU! So far, it's been a ridiculous amount of fun and I hope you stick with me for the ride! Get it? Ride? *ahem* Please let me know your thoughts -- I'm eager to hear from you! Thanks to rainpuddle for her encouragement and beta. 
> 
> BTW, the jazz sandwich reference? You can find it here! [http://www.jazzinamerica.org/LessonPlan/8/2/203]()


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